Immortality Is Boredom
by Unique .F
Summary: I'm Sarah. I've never tried to keep a diary before, nor am I in the practice of randomly blurting out my deepest thoughts to unknown people...But I've decided to put a sort of account up here. You see, I've just celebrated my one thousand and third anniversairy, with my beloved husband Jareth...T for swearing
1. Entry 1

Hello. My name is Sarah Williams.

Dear God, what are you supposed to say on these things? "Hi, I'm Sarah, nice to not actually meet you, I'm immortal and desperate for a chat with you ordinary mortals?" Jesus, that sounded bad. Let's try again.

I found this site while I was cruising the internet a few years back. I won't question how you lot all know about my husband and I, it's probably one of those Inexplicable Things About The Universe No One Understands. Such as the existence of magic. And the universe, life, and everything, huh?

Seeing as, for another odd reason, all of your knowledge about myself, my husband- the Goblin King- and our kingdom, seems to end just after my first adventure in the Labyrinth when I foolishly wished away my stepbrother as a teenager, I'll tell you a bit about myself, and my current situation.

I won't go into the details of how the Goblin King and I found each other again, suffice to say, it involved several ridiculous wishes and some shameful memories I'd rather not revisit. And, besides, I quite like reading what you guys think happened between us, though I have to say, sometimes it can be a double-edged blade. Anyway, Jareth and I fell in love, and got married.

Recently we celebrated our one-thousand and third anniversary. We have twelve kids- yes, I know, but I'm being honest, there is _nothing _to do in the Goblin Kingdom other than raise children. No wonder the goblins are so prolific. They discovered the secret to long-term relationships with immortals way before Jareth and I did.

I suspect you're a bit curious to know what being immortal's actually like. If I remember correctly, most of the books containing people like my sun-and-stars (I know, I know, but after a thousand or so years even I start to pick up the ridiculous pet names) in the Aboveground center around soppy teenage love fiction.

I can sum it all up with one word- dull. Day in, day out, it's just all the same. Everything loses excitement because you've done it all before. My lord husband banned me from the Aboveground the day he made me immortal, I never understood why, but in hindsight I guess I can see the point.

Jareth's argument was very convincing, even though I didn't really understand what he meant. Here it is, his words, not mine.

"_The first century or so, it'd be fun. But then everyone starts dying. Everyone you known, dies. The world changes around you until you can't recognise it anymore. You're alone, and you're outcast. You can't get close to anyone because if you do soon enough they'll die. _

_You'd would go mad. Of that I am almost certain. Imagine, your life stretching before you, an empty, dull void of just existing. Things would cease to matter to you. Eventually you'd bury yourself somewhere, try and kill yourself even though you know there's no way out. You scream and you cry, but there's nothing you can do._

_You push on the glass. You can't get in to the world around you. It's scary and it's different and no one understands you. Mortals are so bright and colourful in your world of darkness and despair you start using them, just to cheer you up. They're so alive, you can't help but be drawn to them. And after a while, you get frustrated with one. You want them to love you, because no one else does anymore. Everyone who did is dead. So you ask. But you can't ask anymore, you've forgotten how. You trick and you lie and you manipulate, but it doesn't work. _(Does any of this sound familiar? It certainly gave me a turn.)

_You get angry. Maybe you kill the mortal. But then the despair comes back, and you've only got your immortal partner, me, who doesn't understand you anymore. I wouldn't see why you're so upset. _

_Because I was born immortal. I was born with the capability to deal with endless life. But you? _

_You were born knowing you'd die._

_Divisions would appear. Splits. Cracks. And soon you'd hate me, hate me for making you immortal when you could be wandering the afterlife now. And you'd be alone. Alone in the world, with no one who cared about you and the only one who did turning my back to you."_

Scary, isn't it? When I first heard my sun-and-stars' oh-so perfect argument I ended up shouting at him why the hell didn't he just let me die instead since I was "born knowing I'd die." He went very pale and quiet and didn't speak to me for three days. I felt a little guilty and went to him, hoping to make it up, I did love him really, it's just, he can be so very...Oh! I don't know. Irritating? Abrasive? Overriding? Proud?

Well, anyway, I went to him, and I found him staring at a dagger, locked alone in his chambers, (we were newlywed then, and I wasn't quite brave enough to publicly move into the same rooms as him, instead I slept in the Queen's Chambers, which are connected to his by means of a nifty passage.) Of course, I immediately jumped to conclusions and told him he was an idiot for even contemplating suicide, towed him outside and promptly shoved him out a window. Oh, happy days.

They were the happiest days of our marriage, those early times. We had such rows! Flaming rows that threatened to demolish the castle several times. Everything seemed heightened back then, every anger, every irritation, every pleasure, every smile. I remember when we went on our honeymoon to some sort of random cabin in the middle of an equally random forest, Jareth and I destroyed nearly half the woods and ended up owing the Queen of the Elves a fortune. Goblins used to run and hide whenever they saw storm clouds threatening on the horizon... (both of us have some influence over the weather)

Don't get me wrong, I love Jareth. I really do, it's just sometimes I wonder what it would be like with someone else. Someone normal. I don't regret marrying him, no, in retrospect, it was probably the best decision I made in my life. But I do miss being able to talk to _other _people than Jareth.

I can understand a lot of what he did in the Labyrinth, tormenting the runners is all the sport we can really do down here, seeing as we have a distinct lack of preybeasts to hunt, and there are few visitors to our feared kingdom. Hell, I do a lot of it myself, nowadays. Mostly the desperate housewives, they really irritate me. Espeacially the blatant flirting with my husband. He _is _married, you know!

We had a woman like that a few weeks (or years? I can't remember) back. Aged forty-two, she wished away her beautiful eight year old daughter. Jareth goes to deal with the call while I calmed down the child and asked her name. She was called Melanie. Isn't that a lovely name? I like it. She was an adorable child, and I really wish we could have kept her.

I wish _my _daughters were as nice as her. But oh no, Jasmine (my third) is obsessed with riding dragons, Jenna (my fifth) has inherited Jareth's hair, my temper, and double helpings of pride, Talulah (my sixth) is feared throughout the Underground with a sword, Lireal, (my eighth) is already happily married, Linyaari (my tenth) is a carbon copy of myself, and my youngest, Vahaya's (he chose the name) first word was _die_. And this is not talking about my sons. Good grief.

I have six boys, and sometimes it feels like they are copies of Jareth, right down to the odd affinity for tight legwear. My sun-and-stars has not been helpful in dissuading my sons from promptly de-virgin-ising the whole Underground, who's excuse, when asked, is that when Jasmine requires sacrifices for her dragons, there should be no virgins readily available. My firstborn son is called Jareth, after his daddy, (I wasn't, ah, with Jareth when Junior was born...) and seriously, it can be so irritating. I holler up the stairs for my son and the father comes down, grinning like a fool, and then I have to spend the next hour or so trying to work out who is who.

My second, Jérome, takes more after me. He was hopelessly naive about everything- until Jareth Junior noticed that meant he'd eat frogs from the pond and drink mouldy milk and be fooled all the time.

My fourth is called Juhaka, and he too takes after Jareth, although his hair is dark and his eyes are brown. My seventh is Joseph, he joined the army and became a commander, my ninth is Jaeddyn, who is a ladies man and sticks around with Jr and Juhaka most of the time. And finally, my eleventh, Jailen, who has a beautiful head of blond curls, blue eyes you could drown in, and somehow manages to charm the socks off everyone even when in the grips of a flaming temper.

But anyway. I was talking about Melanie and the wisher, wasn't I? Well, Jareth goes to take the call, and comes back laughing fit to burst. Thank God he showed me what happened through a crystal, because crystals I can smash. She was _patently _flirting with _my _husband! Like he needs his ego being pampered! I asked Jareth to send her a peach, rather like the one I got during my run, and then appeared to her in the guise of what she could have been. I also, very firmly, told her he is _married, _he is _mine, _and for Godssakes woman, _do you have any self-respect? _

I cannot understand that. I'm being lenient and kindly ignoring those rather odd author notes you put at the tops of your chapters, such as, _**I don't own the Labyrinth or any of its characters, otherwise Jareth would be all mine! **_Well, you damn well don't own us! I'm also trying not to think about all the desperate fangirls my poor husband has inspired. Good god, I am never telling you lot how to get to my address.

So yes. I was just saying I understood somethings about my husband after a thousand years of living with the jerk, yes?

Unfortunately, there are some things that even after a thousand years, I still don't understand about him. For one, why must he be so goddamn irritating?

I have, however, discovered that there is a reason for wearing those leggings of his. Most males (I use males as to use the term 'men' would be to imply that they are human, which most of them are certainly not) do, and it is considered the fashion. The Underground is slower to accept things than Aboveground. At least, that's what my sun-and-stars tells me, anyway.

I simply cannot comprehend his affinity for dressing me up in big poufy dresses. I try not to think about it most of the time and simply choose my own outfits, if I actually want to be able to walk. It's slightly worrying- most males (again with the inhuman thing) prefer seeing females in slimline, or hardly anything, right? Like some of those skimpy little shorts you oddballs in the Aboveground have taken to wearing. (Sometimes I get sent clothes catalogues. I don't know why. They're always redirected from my old house.) But Jareth seems to find me irresistible if I dress up in seven-hundred and ninety layers with a skirt that could drown a dozen dancers. That sort of thing doesn't really help a girl's esteem.

But then, my lord husband isn't exactly what anyone would call normal. My perceptions have been shifted by living Underground, but I can still guess that my Jareth isn't exactly the sort of guy you meet everyday in Aboveground. Or maybe Aboveground has discovered a passion for long-haired singing males that throw glitter around? I don't know. Maybe you have, maybe you haven't.

Ach! I hated the glitter. He used to infuriate me, a poof of glitter here, a puff there, and always in my damn hair! Do you know how long it takes to wash glitter out of hair like mine? It takes me about three to five washes, and even then I'm certain I see it sparkle every now and then. It's so irritating. But sometimes, his alarming penchant for throwing glitter can be very sweet, too. When he gets really angry, he shoots little starbursts that never fail to make me giggle, which spoils the rant because he laughs too.

Other times, he glows. Yes, he actually glows. When he's really excited or happy about something, he glows like a little lantern. He hates it when that happens, but I think, personally, it's cute.

My sun-and-stars is a very aggressive person sometimes. Because he's so powerful, when he loses control things can get deadly. I wonder what it would be like knowing the worst your beloved hubby can do is storm out for a little while. Imagine living with a guy that if you piss him off enough, _laughs _while slowly dissecting someone. From a professional view, he's _very _good; he can keep prisoners alive for years, although if he's angry enough for him to personally torture you, you probably won't live past day one.

I only ever saw him that angry once. One of his cousins, Lucien, wanted to take me for his own to spite my sun-and-stars. He cast a spell on me- me being the hapless mortal I was back then, I had no clue- and enchanted me back to his castle. I broke the illusion just seconds before I was lost to my Jareth forever, and my lord husband was so furious he locked Lucien in an oubliette and tortured him straight for twenty two years, ending by dropping him in a pit of molten tar.

Yes, he's such a pacifist.

Despite that, he can be very considerate at times- when he's not being a complete asshole for no other apparent reason then I'm his queen and therefore has to put up with him, or furious with me for no reason, or just genuinely bad-tempered. One of my fondest memories- besides, oddly, the peach ballroom- was before I Turned, sitting on a windowsill that overlooked the Labyrinth. I remember it well- the sun was shining with warm yellow afternoon light, and the air was sleepy and insects chirruped beneath us. Jareth was with me, of course, sprawled across the sill in his usual messy fashion, with my head resting on his stomach and him stroking my hair and singing to me.

I worry often that my sun-and-stars has multiple personality disorder. He can certainly be very mercurial.  
But that's enough about me, and my husband. You may be wondering why in the Three Worlds I'm writing this. Well, so am I. I've not tried to do a diary before, it never really works out. And I'm not usually in the habit of professing my deepest troubles, fears, hopes and dreams to random people I don't know, either.

I guess I'm sort of lonely. There's no one to talk to in the Goblin City. Well, that's a lie, there are plenty of servants and goblins and people, but because I'm the queen, they're always very courteous and agree constantly with what I'm saying.

Ludo, bless him, gets agitated if he thinks I'm upset, which can happen at the slightest moment, and Hoggle thinks I'm barmy for marrying Jareth. And he's so smug whenever I want to come to him with a good old complain I've given up. Sir Didymus is so hopelessly loyal to both me and Jareth it practically kills him to hear a bad word against either of us, let alone from us ourselves.

I'd love a girlfriend right now. Someone to chatter on incessantly at me irrespective of my title and so on, who I can whinge at and be very smug when my children behave better than hers, and just someone _other _than Jareth to talk to. Most of the people in the Goblin City are hardly good conversationalists, and even the best-matched couple need some thinking space every now and then, which is next to impossible when your husband possesses the ability to spy on you whenever he feels like it, or randomly pop in to see you at the oddest times.

And he gets so hopelessly worried whenever I suggest some time off, perhaps a holiday, just to think about things, leave the worries and cares behind and go adventuring. He gets this tight, pinched look and sets oh-so unobtrusive secret guards outside our quarters with orders to follow me just to make sure. And as much as I am bored with forever at the moment, I wouldn't want to cheat on him, or him to get upset over nothing, so I end up gritting my teeth and getting on with it.

But sometimes I get so frustrated I could howl. What about you guys? Talk to me, people. Come on, you're mortals from another world! You must be curious about stuff in the Underground.

_Her Majesty, Sarah Mary Anne Sylfaen, Queen of the Goblins, Champion of the Labyrinth and Wed of His Majesty, Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_

**Love it? Hate it? What do you think? Please respond!**


	2. Entry 2

Greetings.

I received your reply, Person3162012, and lolgirl, and I must admit to being curious- are many people in the Aboveground named thus? Times have indeed changed. A question, what does ' ;) ' mean? Is it perhaps a glyph in some language I do not know?

The Bog of Eternal Stench is indescribable in many ways...It tends to smell of what you most fear, most hate. For instance, during my run it contained in its pungent miasma the smell of long unused rooms, pertaining to my fear of being abandoned and left alone within my family. The second time I had the misfortune to visit it, (this was at a time before I was married, and yea, before I fell in love,) it smelled of peaches and musk- similar to the scent of my husband. It does not have one specific scent but is a horrible blend of it all. That is why the goblins fear it so- to them I suppose it smells of cleanliness and soap, (and perhaps a bit of the king as well, I should presume).

I having not been Aboveground for over a thousand years or so, I find it difficult to compare what scents you may use. I apologise, but my sun-and-stars was quite strict in his restriction.

The Underground is shaped by belief. Rarely nowadays are we changed as mightily as I did to the Labyrinth upon my first visit, but occasionally we get new bits and pieces added on and old ones withering away. As I am still, for the most part, human, my belief in the Labyrinth keeps it strong and well-fed. The Underground is endless, there are many kings and queens, including one Seelie Court, I believe you would be interested to know. The Labyrinth and the Goblin Kingdom tends towards more desert like climates, though my arrival did cause a large forest to inexplicably spring up within the Labyrinth's walls.

The Goblin Army...I can see that your query was meant only in confusion, and it is that ignorance I forgive you now. They were trained by Sir Didymus himself in the art of combat, and are generally known as the nightmares of the waking mind. There are two types to this army, the army of the goblins, which were the harmless ones Jareth uses against the runners, and then there are the Goblins, night frights and ghasts and wisps and faeries and dragons and a whole load of terrifying monsters, though if Jareth rides to war, his reputation is so fearsome enemies are known for cutting their own throats rather than face him in battle or depend on his mercy. Personally I think the rumours are exaggerated- last time I checked my husband does not transform into a twelve-foot demon with fiery breath and bloody claws, though I may be wrong. I wouldn't put it past him to use a frightening glamour to reduce enemy morale. He's smart like that.

The Fireys! Such a silly name for such fierce beasts. They have names in nearly all languages, and for good reasons. As any goblin worth his spit will tell you- in the Labyrinth, nothing is as it seems. What seemed a land of silly, mischievous goblins and a dashing but impish king in my run no way covers their darker side. I believe I have explained my sun-and-stars' penchant for torturing those who displease him? He is not one to be trifled with, but then, neither am I.

The Fierys are known for ripping unwary travellers from limb to limb, and Jareth once set up an arena and sent them in to fight against the strongest Fae warriors. It was always amusing to him to see the great proud Fae scream and run, then torn agonisingly slowly to pieces and eaten.

Don't be frightened- everything has a dark side. Only down here, in a world of myth and magic, the line between nightmares and dreams is thin indeed. Often those you wish for the most will turn out to be the ones you run the farthest from. The Labyrinth loved me, and I never truly was horrible to Toby, so it simply tested me a bit. But for those who beat and hurt their children, no pain is too little or too great.

I have only heard of the novel _Return to the Labyrinth, _as I have only heard of the film _Labyrinth._ Perhaps you mean the red book, entitled _Labyrinth _and authorless, I read?I must apologise, I know little of what and why transpires in it and how you Aboveground appear to know of us. However, I can tell you this- there is a Queen of Dreams, and that queen is me. If you attempt to climb the walls of the Labyrinth you would find it resisting you, such as the brick becoming smooth and unclimable, or spikes shooting out of the walls, or thorny plants. The Labyrinth hates plans. It is better just to ask it to lift you with magic.

I haven't tried collecting my sun-and-stars' glitter, but I think it would take me an awful long time to scrub it off the floor and into a bottle, so that the general magic would have dissipated. Jareth can and does fill his crystals with magic every now and then that I can access, but no, you cannot make pure magic out of glitter. Pure magic comes from within, such as the pure magic of imagination, creativity. The gramerye (magic) Jareth uses is simply an exaggerated version.

When I conquered the Labyrinth, I connected myself to it, and more firmly when the Goblin King took me as his mate later. As I explained in my previous entry, I have become the Pathmaker, the Labyrinth adores us both.

The Labyrinth is not sentient as we are, but aware on a much higher plane. It does not think, but sleeps, but its magic is almost another personality within itself...It is very difficult to explain. It sees no need in taking a humanoid form, as you so aptly put it, but simply communicates its desires through my lord husband or myself. It has no gender, being ignorant of the need to reproduce.

I don't think Jareth will discover our correspondence. I certainly hope not, for if he does he will put a stop to it, and he will most likely be so angry his trust in me would be undermined. I fear he does not understand that I find it so helplessly dull to talk to the same people, and even my Jareth, who can be so very eclectic at times...Sometimes a girl gets tired. He will probably attempt to lock me up, although if he hadn't learned from last time I'd be surprised.

It certainly is a start to be addressed so frankly, being honest. I cannot remember the last time someone greeted me with a simple 'hey'. And to use my name! I have only heard it spoken from eight lips in almost a thousand years-let alone dared to be written. And to use my sun-and-stars' name without a thought to the dangers...You are brave indeed...But that is what I have been missing! Familiarity! In the Underground, I am always greeted by Her Majesty, or my lady, or by one of my extensive titles. In the Aboveground, things are so much simpler! At birth, given two names, of lineage and of spoken, and then keep it until you should meet a mate and then adopting the lineage of your partner as your own.

Whereas I nearly have a hundred and twelve different names and titles I must remember, know how to respond to, and all the courtly functions and such. It used to make my brain ache, but you get used to it after a while. Usually I just respond to anything said in my direction in a respectful tone, be it "Dream Queen," "Goblin Queen, "and, -possibly my favourite- "Lady queeny!" My lord husband, Sir Didymus, Hoggle and Ludo are the only ones who use my name nowadays, but I'm glad you dispensed with the formalities.

I find it very amusing to look into the dreams of people. I can send those nightmares or daydreams, any type of dream I so desire. My favourite would have had to been the ballroom which my sun-and-stars sent me when I was fifteen.

Ah, I was drugged then, maybe there is a bit of my mother in me after all. Jareth and I have a long history of respectively drugging and taking advantage and tricking each other.

I asked him a few days ago if we could visit the Aboveground, for instance, and he glowered and me and then kissed me until I forgot the question. I hate it when he uses my own tricks against me. That just isn't playing fair.

And he seems naturally resistant to most drugs that can dissolve in wine, which is the easiest way I can drug him anyway. And I don't particularly want him as over-confidant, over-affectionate or really over- anything. I did find a drug that worked, but it's very long, begins with V and I can't recall the spelling. It was wonderful beating him at his own game!

We were in the library, and I spiked his drink as I went past. He drank it, and for a moment he was fine and I feared it would not work. But then he started to blink, a bit dizzily, and concentrated a bit harder on the words. Then his muscles start spasming and tightening, and he dropped the wine glass. It was then he suspected something, but the drug had taken effect, and all of his muscles were clenching, making him into a living statue. Then abruptly, they all relaxed. He was still conscious, but unable to move his body. That was funny...I have used that drug several times in the past, when I want him out of the way for something. It's effects last for three to six hours, depending on what race you are, your natural resistance, etc.

Though, for the longest time he had me hooked on some random, backward drug which made me go very spaced and agree with everything he said. I have to say, his vengeance was better than my retaliation.

I am a little worried by some of the stories on this site. How many of them are about me falling backwards in Jareth's arms or me getting my lights kissed out? And if there isn't a least one story where Jareth and I are kissing in the depths of some dungeon held prisoner by some random king bloke? He does, I'm afraid, have an unfortunate habit of kissing me until I run out of breath and lose consciousness, but he says that's more to shut me up than passion.

Cvx\aSmA\W\aAZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ||||||||||||||||||||||| q\

Sorry about that, my lord husband just popped in.

He tells me there is a wisher, and he goes to answer the call now. I must prepare my Labyrinth and alert the goblins. I will speak to you again later, I presume.

_Her Majesty, Sarah Mary Anne Sylfaen, Queen of the Goblins, Champion of the Labyrinth and Wed of His Majesty, Lord Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_

**Please keep talking!**


	3. Entry 3

Blessed be.

I apologise for my abrupt end to my last entry, but wishers are wishers, and my Jareth prefers to let me take over when they are actually in the Labyrinth.

It was a young male adolescent, I place him around eighteen, nineteen, who accidently wished away his younger sister, a plain little girl answering to the name of Anne. He is one of the most delectable mortals I have ever seen!

His eyes are deep, dark brown, and his gorgeous hair is soft, fluffy black that he lets lie in a hairstyle I am unfamiliar with, but seems to suit him. He is tall, but slender and gangly with youth. He speaks with an unfamiliar cadence to his voice that I find fascinating, and has a tendency to roll his _rrs. _His name, Jareth tells me, is John.

Of course, he is nothing to Jareth, but he comes close, and with such a sweet youthfulness! My immortal love is tense and upset. I think he feels jealous, but I cannot help it if he flirts shamelessly with me. And it _is _my duty to deal with them once they enter the boundary of this world. You mortals constantly surprise me. He is bold in his attempts to secure my affections, once going as far as lamenting out loud, in my presence, that it was a shame I was married to such a 'grumpy old guy'. I of course reacted in a predictable fashion and told him with great certainty I would not wish to leave my beautiful, powerful husband for favour of a foolish stripling.

All the same, I am drawn to him...Perhaps it is his foolish persistence, or innocence. But no matter.

I see now why you have such odd names. It used to quite perturb me that mothers named their children names like, _Queen Of Jareth's Heart, _when, as he frequently assures me, that is me. So why, if they wished to associate themselves with me, just name them Sarah? I just accepted it as an Aboveground custom.

Ruby. A beautiful name. I will not pretend to understand why you choose to accept a different name instead, but then again, I am unfamiliar with the Aboveground. I understand now the odd symbols, I think it delightful that you have incorporated a way of conveying facial expressions through text. I do have a lot of questions to ask, I'm afraid...

Can you fly? How good is your technology? Do you all still live on the same plane/planet? What is the average birth rate for humans? Do you have any equivalent of magic? What do your cities look like? Do you even still live in cities? What fashions are there? How long is the average life expectancy for an average human? What literature is popular in the fantasy genre? Is there any mentions of us? And of belief- how many humans can you estimate believe in magical things? I want to know so much! But I restrain myself. I cannot ask you all my questions, or we will be here till your bones crumble to dust.

Rubies are a very beautiful gemstone, I have often thought myself. My crown is embedded with rubies, which sparkle like dancing fire in the light.

artseblis...An interesting choice of pseudonym. Tell me, does it mean anything in your tongue? I am a little offended that refer to me as a mere 'story', I assure you, I am quite real. I shall lay it to rest, on the fact that maybe you Aboveground are a little less accustomed to things magical than we are.

And...you are right.

I fear that...that Jareth and I are drifting apart. I feel...old. I think I just need some space, some people to talk to, I feel that he is smothering me. It is difficult, being married to one of the Fair Folk. He is so powerful, I am...not. He is so old, and wise, he makes me feel like an errant youngling at times, and it's just so frustrating! There is no one I can converse with about random things! Promise me one thing, promise me you will never tell Jareth about this. Please- I couldn't bear it. He is so volatile, he would misconstrue everything, please! Promise me.

For a thousand years, I have lived alongside him, loving him, bearing and raising his children, ruling with him, and I want to get out. I want to be free, for just a minute...Call it my stubbornness, but I feel trapped. Enclosed...

But I have responsibilities. I can't just go. I have everything here. It's just pure human selfishness. Right? I have a husband that loves me, I have my kids, I have the goblins, I have everything a woman could only dream of and yet...

I haven't been outside the Labyrinth in a thousand years! I can't remember what oceans look like, or mountains, or plains! All I know is flat deserts, sprawling walls, and the Fiery Forest. I have known no other man but Jareth, and I am forced to wonder...what is it like? Being normal? Waking up next to your human husband and living past all these things that humans find to irritate themselves with, going in to work in your job, coming home...

When I wake up, I wake to Jareth holding me tight on the grandest, most comfortable bed you can imagine. I eat the highest quality food, I eat even better than anyone else, then I go and check on my beautiful children, who are perfect and well-behaved, then I go and sit on my throne with Jareth, listen to the Goblin Court, and then there are the papers to be signed, Vahaya to take care of-

_AND I'M SO BORED! _I've done the same thing day in day out for a thousand years! I want excitement in my life again! I want those old days, when I was being captured and thrown in dungeons and Jareth was desperate to win my love! I want be able to face off against unbeatable enemies, I want to be in danger, I want to be ALIVE! You don't understand what you have! You mortals, who spend your life thinking how restricted you are, how bored, and I can't even have the freedom to take a stroll in _my own garden _without checking with my husband!

But I love him! I cannot bear to leave Jareth- it would destroy him. He is unceasing in his faithfulness to me, and I feel so horrible for even thinking of it, but he can be so...cold. It's so bad I sometimes wonder if he even loves me anymore. Sometimes I think he regrets making me immortal, but when I ask him, he tells me he loves me more than anything, that I am his life, his world, his beauty, but...I...

I don't know! Ah, why am I even telling you this anyway! You don't understand, you're idiot humans! Your lives pass in a blink! How am I to compare with you...

I miss it...So much...I want to be human again...

I'm so sorry. I...shouldn't have exploded like that. Maybe we'll speak again...soon.

_Her Majesty Sarah Mary Anne Williams, Queen of the Goblins, Champion of the Labyrinth and Wed of His Majesty Lord Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins._


	4. Entry 4

My salutations, mortals.

It seems once more I must convey regrets for my ill behaviour. I seem to have spent my entire time thus far bemoaning my lack of contact with anything Aboveground, and I have been quite uncivil. Therefore I apologise for my uncouth behaviour.

I must also bring you good news- my beloved husband, His Majesty Lord Jareth of the Goblins, has decreed that he will host a ball, to which many other rulers are invited. This ball is to take place in three weeks time, and it is to be a masquerade. My seamstresses have been frantic with haste to begin preparations for what they convince me shall be a perfect ballgown to match with my choice of costume.

I thank you for reading so far- and once more your depth of perception surprises me. I must tender apologies for my forwardness in my previous entry- rest assured, I shall keep myself in check.

I have taken in mind your advice, Tatianna ne Onitsu Blackfeather. I left the world of mortals at the age of twenty-five, and became immortal at the age of thirty. His Majesty believes from personal experience that it should only be painful to me, seeing how my home world has changed. He believes it is unwise for my thoughts to dwell on a lost world. It is the very destructiveness of humanity that he believes he is protecting me from. It is better, he says, to remember it as the world you left it as than hoping for something that could never be.

From personal experience, he has concocted that it would lead only to disaster, leaving me with such memories to dwell on, lest I become obsessed with the mortal world, such as he did and thus depressed. We have been to the High Queen's Palace before, when His Majesty my lord husband presented his plea for my immortality. But that was a while ago.

TearsOnIce, I fail to understand- what is a mid-life crisis? A malady of humanity? Ah, no, I remember now. A period in a mortal's life, usually nearing the middle, such as fifties, where the mortal becomes depressed and bored, correct?

Elphaba Rose Wilde (Elphie), may I extend my compliments to your choice of pseudonym? Your suggestion holds merit to the untrained mind...But it is that frustration my husband bans me from the Aboveground to keep me from experiencing. In the Underground, things do not change. Our world is a soft, sad place, a double-edged blade, I sometimes believe. My husband keeps me sane in these dark times of depression. I am lucky for one such as him.

Your machines are truly remarkable. In the Underground, use of crystals and magic can accommodate everything. This computer was given to me upon my birthday by my sun-and-stars, and thus I cannot do all that much without him knowing. I believe we once had a C.S. Lewis in the Labyrinth once. And the name J.R.R Tolkien rings a bell also...Ah yes, he was the mortal who ventured into my good friend's domain. There was much talk of that.

Aisling66...I have never been able to convince my love that a leaving is due for anniversary. Upon our anniversary, we either take our children out to the Labyrinth, or one memorable time, re-enact my own run...That was interesting. I threw my king out into the Labyrinth and made him run it thirteen hours otherwise he'd be sleeping on the couch for thirteen days. Needless to say, the punishment inspired him to win. We are so busy it is generally enough to take a day off to simply be with each other. Several times we have toured the Underground, but not extensively.

lolgirl, I did not take offence at your misspellings, perhaps you meant something else? A small computer carried in the pocket? How strange. Are you not afraid of enemies spying on you through it?

mysticrox123. I would pray that you would see that I have 'posted' these 'diary entries' to relieve myself of boredom. I suppose my companionship has grown boring. Times are rare that I can get away to write. Jareth is suspicious, I am certain- but he has not formulated certainty yet.

7SCARS. What an interesting penname. Perhaps you have heard of the bonding ritual, whereupon faeries will scar themselves with the personal crests of others to show respect and/or love? My love has such tattoos on his hands. Some explain his origins, his line, others his marriage to me, and every time he gets a new child, he adds another. Of course you haven't...you're mortal. I apologise. I forget sometimes. You all seem so knowledgeable about my world.

My favourite experience with a runner...That is a difficult question. I am sure you do not mean the time when I banished my sun-and-stars to the Labyrinth and told him to run it in thirteen hours or he would be on the couch? Though surely that was my favourite of times. There have been many runners, though possibly one of the better ones would have been by a young girl, named Alice.

She was seventeen, and when my husband left to take the call, he came back full of good humour. She was similar to myself, character wise, except from a little less childish and naive. She flirted outrageously with my husband, and Jareth broke our long-standing agreement to taunt her several times. I would have been worried about the possibilities of an affair- but she lost in the end, and when she offered herself instead of her sister, I very nearly burst out laughing! It was obvious what she wanted. I told her to go home, silly girl. Oh! I had fun tormenting Alice. Jareth assured me afterwards most explicitly I was his only love.

The Underworld has not been quiet of late. There is a rumour that one of our neighbouring kingdoms has started human slave trafficking. The Labyrinth has never kept slaves of any kind on my insistence, but the reports make me uneasy. Jareth is concerned and has told me to make sure I be careful.

I found this rumour true.

Winding through the outskirts of our kingdom I found one day a long train of slaves, humans, mortals, chained together, filthy and diseased. At their helm was a smirking Sidhe, and at their back another with a long whip. I was rightly furious and promptly imprisoned the slave-drivers, and even now the humans are recovering under our most talented healers' care.

Jareth and I have been torturing the drivers, and we found that the slavery originated from the Queen of Desires, otherwise known as Goddess of Temptation, Aphrodite, whatever you want to call her. We all have many names. She replies innocently that she takes in young, pretty humans that wish to stay with her and none else, but I have my suspicions. It was her that enchanted my sun-and-stars into loving me so strongly during my thirteen hours, making him the laughing stock of the kingdoms. He never quite broke free of the spell, but there is plenty of natural love between us.

It is with these grave news I bear a warning- be careful. You have heard of the tricksy natures of magical creatures, and I may not be able to save you should you fall prey to darkness.

I have no other great news of import, other than that Hoggle may have finally discovered his life-long admirer, the young dwarf maid Helzva of the Az Sweldn Rak Knurl family. I am known that it is a great line. They are both very shy.

Besides from that, there is nothing else. I shall write to you again soon- but for the moment Vahaya is screaming.

_Her Majesty Sarah Mary Anne Williams, Queen of the Goblins, Queen of Dreams, Pathmaker of the Labyrinth, Champion of the Labyrinth, Bloodfire of Ageata, and Wed of His Majesty Lord Jareth, King of the Goblins, Lord of the Labyrinth._


	5. Entry 5

Well met, readers.

I have been busy recently, with preparations for the ball. First there is goblins to convince, invites to write and send, food to organise, ballrooms to plan, guest chambers to be cleaned, guest stables to be prepared, and then there is nemesis' to appeal to, friends to persuade, guards to be put in place! It surely _should _be fun to relax after all this work, mysticrox123, and if it isn't then I want a refund...I have tried desperately to narrow down the lists, but there was only so much I could do, and _still _the Queen of the Rainbows Mountains and her consort, Lord Taurec (_tohrec_), came. If there is one man I loathe more in the world than my-sun-and-stars' deceased brother Lucien it is Taurec.

It is understood across the Faerie Realm (Or, as you know it, the Underground) that the Goblin King (a mortal affection) and I are bonded. Faeries do not practice marriage, as such, but Jareth and I decided to marry in the mortal way, which meant a lot more to me than it did to him, I must say. Taurec, the favourite consort of Queen Beyante, (pronounced _beh-yont_) insists in pursuing me despite that well-known fact.

Humans, as a rule, do not marry faeries. There are strict unspoken rules, and any faerie to marry a human is immediately banished to die an early death in banality of the mortal world. Perhaps I should elaborate on some of these rules.

We have no written down laws, as such, among the High Races, (faeries, elves, dryads, ruling classes, e.t.c) but in the normal faerie the sense of honour is too great. Faeries have been known to exile themselves to the mortal world if they have done wrong without instruction. We have no punishments, law courts, or prisons, we do not need them. If the offending faerie does not punish themselves then it is up to the High Queen to punish them.

Faeries do not steal. If they are found doing so, they are banished.

Faeries do not lie. Manipulate and trick, yes, but never outright lies. Though they have perfected the art of saying one thing and meaning another.

Rape does not exist in the Faerie Realm, partners must always be willing. Faeries are selfish, laviscious and easily obsessed- and just as easily distracted by the next pretty face. There is no need to force another. We respect their right to choose. If there are more than one faerie interested in another, it is up to that individual to choose, or more commonly, sleep with both. It is not uncommon to find three or more faeries consorting with one another.

Duels are strictly regulated, for the joy of competition only. If a faerie is found acting aggressively to any other faerie in a way that might lead to a non-competition duel they face the harshest of punishments.

Killing. We do not even have to punish murderers, for the land does it itself. The very idea is abhorrent to the Underground. Faeries are a violent, passionate race full of fiery emotions- it is just as well their moods are short lived and mercurial.

Anyone caught studying only destructive Wild Magic, or even High Magic without permission or without owning membership to a guild, or doing a Binding Spell on another faerie, is in big trouble. Destructive magic is pretty self-explanatory, and studying or even peeking at wild magic books can be devastating. Binding another faerie to do one's will is a very serious crime. As faeries are supposed to have free will, be the very symbols of free will, in fact, taking it away from them is a terrible crime resolved only in banishment or death, depending on the seriousness of the matter at hand.

Releasing demons. Demons are terrible creatures that live in the shadows between realms. Anyone mad enough to summon demons is in serious danger. One mistake in the spell of compulsion, then they will rip the summoner to pieces and be free in the Faerie Realm. Punishment for that is instant death.

You may be wondering about how my sun-and-stars was able to get away with torturing his brother, Lucien. Lucien was a student of Dark Magic, and preformed an alternate of a Binding Spell on me to force me to do what he wanted. When he was found out, people were in a terrible rage, and Jareth was simply the first to get there. He imprisoned Lucien until the Seelie Court approved his death and then tortured him until twenty-two years later, whereupon the mad Lucien jumped into a pit of boiling tar to end his misery.

Jareth, I believe, has a bit of demon blood in him. It is generally kept a secret, and I would much appreciate it if you did not tell. For this reason some of the other rulers are quite frightened of him. Jareth does not act any differently for this heinous ancestry and I do not think any less of him. All the same, more than one rule has been gently bent when it comes to my lord husband.

Jareth's line has been ruling the Goblin Kingdom since its origin. All those nightmarish creatures that the other ah, _citizens _in the Underground disdain come here to live. Our kingdom is basically a home of all unwanted things. The existence of it is generally distasteful to other people, they would much rather forget we exist.

After a few hundred or so years of being ignored, Jareth and I went on a bit of a campaign to get more recognition- we were only invited to the most important events, and even then our messengers sometimes went randomly lost. The most notable of these being we, the parents, weren't invited to our own daughter's wedding! Jareth and I gatecrashed, of course. Lireal was very upset. She believed that we had simply deigned not to answer.

Well, yes. As I believe I have said before, the line of succession has always been carried down the females, reason being that as faeries do not tend to practice marriage and only take however many consorts when they wish to. However, at the time of his father's death, Jareth, his brother Lucien, and his two sisters Antopia and Iden were left. Antopia died through an unfortunate accident later events gave me to suspect Lucien, and Iden gave into her obsession with the mortal world and ran off, becoming the Viking Goddess of Youth.

At the time, Jareth, the older of the two, hadn't a consort and neither did Lucien. So Jareth took the throne, as there were no female relatives. Despite that, he was not truly Goblin 'King', which was a name given him by mortals, as he, I suspect, did not wish to explain every time he met a curious mortal.

There are no rules about humans apart from that faeries are never to openly show themselves without permission. This leads to another little embarrassment of the Goblin Kingdom- me.

I was given the Labyrinth book as a child, and my belief in it was exceptionally strong. Usually, had I been any normal girl, I would have gone through the Labyrinth, failed to rescue my brother, and woken up again in the mortal world, believing it a dream, but the lessons I learned forever engraved in my heart. This practice was adopted to cull the rate of changelings in the mortal world- you were getting dangerously magical, and were figuring out ways to lock us from your world.

However, I did not. My belief was so strong, that I overrode the Labyrinth, the Goblin King and all his subjects and basically forced them to do what I wished and conform to my expectations. Hence I defeated the Labyrinth, despite having all my fantasies turned against me, and returned triumphant.

As Jareth assured me later, it was mortifying, being completely and unutterably pounded by a teenage mortal she-child. However, exceptions were made (with many sniggers) and I was left in peace.

When I came back, more exceptions were made in the face of me being Champion, and therefore, allowed to be in the Underground. Thus, the laws of the faeries applied to me too, which was why Lucien was punished when he tried to Compel me. (It wouldn't have mattered if I was a normal human.)

Which is why I warn you to be careful about the slavers. Faeries are forbidden from showing themselves to humans without permission, but all the same...

I am sincerely worried about Jareth finding out about these entries. If he found out he would almost certainly ban me from writing to you, and probably curtail the little contact I have to the mortal world in my closely regulated internet connection. It is hurtful that he does not trust me enough to not filter almost everything to do with you Aboveground out of my computer, but Jareth is Jareth.

Titianna Onitsu Blackfeather, I agree that my tears are helpful in persuading Jareth on some matters, but on others, he is as rock to my weeping. I think it helps that weeping women tend to disconcert him, otherwise I'd never wring a single concession out of him! You must remember, my lord husband being a creature of eternity in his own words finds it difficult to understand mortals even after lifetimes of study. I do not think your reasoning occurred to him. He believes that it would only upset me, to see the fast-paced action of mortal life, and make me irrepressibly bored with the slower rhythm in the Faerie Realm.

Ruby, your advice is sound, but I must ask, is not a kingdom full of goblins more than any pet could ever be? I am certain I found several grey hairs the other day. Goblins age immortals faster than anything else could. I also, in my spare time, train hunting owls. It's ironic, isn't it? Jareth has a whole eyrie full of them, and sometimes I come down in the middle of the night to see him there, talking to them, with them all perched on his arms, his head, and all around. It's ever so sweet.

It saddens me the mortal world is so disbelieving of the Fae, perhaps it is time to give you all a good scare, hmm? Ah, the ruckus we could cause! But besides that. I am not cruel enough to unleash the goblins on your world. They breed like h- rats.

Elphaba Rose Wilde, it pleases me that you inquire after my friend Sir Didymus, and your courtesy is well-placed. My brave friend is still around, battle-scarred and going a bit grey around the muzzle, but around. He was actually quite old when I first met him, about the equivalent of forty, fifty? I am unfamiliar with mortal ages. And I must caution you for the slavers- they do not care, irrespective of who you are, they will take you prisoner. Patrols are mounted, but all the same, should you find yourself in the Underground, hurry to the Goblin Kingdom immediately and keep your face covered, and your humanity a secret. We are all worried.

Yes, Jareth has slept on the couch previously, Aisling66. In fact, many times. For the longest, almost three months. I was staying in the palace, but due to some unfortunate events half the castle blew up, including my quarters. Jareth immediately offered his bed to me (even now, I am suspicious of what the true intentions of that may have been) and slept on the sofa for three months, (apart from once or twice when he accidently joined me) while the castle was being rebuilt.

Another memorable occasion was when I was pregnant with Jérome, and furious with him for being an arrogant and uncaring ass. I persuaded the Labyrinth to lock him out of the castle and accidently forgot about him, until five days hence, when I realised he had been sleeping outside as an owl!

As for what I'm going as for the masquerade...My seamstresses have got it in their heads that I mustn't know. I suspect my husband...

artseblis! What are you meaning to imply? That my husband is _lying _to me? No matter how irritating his restriction is to me I doubt he could go that far. Are you trying to sow discord between me and my sun-and-stars? Whatever could make you think so? Can you see something in him I cannot?

No! That is wrong. I trust him, I love him...He _must _be right? Mustn't he? It is right, isn't it?

But he has been quiet. And the slavers were found on the edges of our kingdom...Oh artseblis, what have you done? In a thousand years he has never led me astray...Perhaps it is just our overactive imaginations. My apologies...I overreacted.

I may not get time to write again for a little while. Things are very hectic. As soon as I can sneak away, I will write.

_Her Majesty, Sarah Mary Anne Williams, Champion of the Labyrinth, Queen of the Goblins, and Wed and Bond of His Majesty Lord Jareth Gaelin Oberon Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_


	6. Entry 6

May the stars watch over you, friends!

The ball was amazing! Such splendour I haven't ever seen! And the dress...Oh, the dress!

After being thoroughly pampered and treated and whatnot, I went to my seamstresses and they revealed the most gorgeous dress I have possibly ever seen. My sun-and-stars obviously had a hand in designing it.

It was long sleeved, but with a plummeting neckline that teased without tempting, you might say. It hugged my upper body Jareth-tight, (painted on!) and flared out past my hips with a gorgeously wonderful poufy skirt that made me feel like a faerie. There were attachments to my arms, two swathes of fabric hanging from my sleeves that looked like wings. It was white, pure white, with brown and cream owl feathers sewn in an artful design on the bodice to resemble as much of natural owl feathers as possible. The mask was simply...beautiful.

I was an owl, obviously, with a gorgeous heart-shaped mask with feathers so soft and smooth they could have only come off my love himself (there is a certain shine and scent to his feathers which normal owls lack) with a beautifully polished and sharpened beak. I truly was a vision in it. I can say that without being immodest.

Upon entering the ballroom, the first impression that hit me was white. The walls were white, the floor was sparkling white, the tables laden with luscious fruits were white marble. The lover's alcoves were curtained off with sumptuous red drapes that looked like blood against freshly fallen snow. I looked like the queen I am.

The second impression was of smell. The dizzying scent of peaches was everywhere. I felt almost giddy with excitement and couldn't help reliving the vivid memories of Jareth and I's first dance.

The third was of sound, for it was all quiet. There, below me, were the Faerie Royals and members of court, dressed in a riot of different colours, with their cold, lovely faces hidden by masks. And as I began my descent, a familiar song began to play.

I shivered in recognition. _As The World Falls Down. _The song my love sang to me in our first dance.

My eyes instinctively met his, and I knew him immediately, despite the mask.

He was so beautiful it made tears come to my eyes. Faeries are naturally attractive, even more so if you meet one face to face. They emit a certain pheromone, and a magical aura that invites humans to come closer. It is a defensive mechanism- for faeries thrive off human belief, and while they do not need it to survive, and will not die if they are not believed in, it bolsters their magic and makes them stronger. That is why my sun-and-stars is quite so powerful. He represents the fear of a kidnapper, the putting aside of childhood fantasies and the love of family. When one envisages child-stealers, it is my husband they think of. (Although, perhaps not as the King of the Goblins.)

Even so, he simply soared above the others of his race. They looked petty and garish compared to him. I may be biased, but personally no wonder has ever compared. Maybe I'm laying it on a bit thick, but honestly, I can't think what else to describe that electric moment with.

He wore pale greys, grey leggings, a dusky fog-grey frock coat, and a long wolf-fur cape. His mask was that of a wolf, and so beautifully made I found myself thinking at first if it was actually real. His spiky hair looked like a ruff.

I made my way towards him, and he was exactly how he used to be, charming, infuriating, and slyly magnetic. He insisted on pretending he didn't know who I was, and I was perfectly happy to go along with the game.

He drove me quite mad. We teased each other mercilessly, and yet he played uncatchable with me! Oh, it was frustrating. After the unmasking, Jareth refused to kiss me and instead pretended disappointed, which drew laughs from the crowd and blushes from me. I managed to corner him in an alcove for a quick kiss only once, which annoyed me no end.

I had just decided that no matter how gorgeous he looked he was going to be spending a cold night on the couch when he, out of the blue, swept me up in his arms, professed loudly that he was going to flaunt politics and courtesy, because his queen was driving him insane and he was sure they could all understand. My cheeks, naturally, went as red as the fires in Mothgoral's Forge, electing a good-natured laugh and several bawdy jokes.

Well, anyway, we retired early. The following day I spent most of my time alone with my husband, talking to him. It was refreshing to have him listen to me as well, _me, _instead of his precious queen so valuable and fragile as glass. We would lie on our bed together, wrapped in an embrace, and he would stare down at me with those intense dark mismatched eyes of his while I talked.

I aired all my confusions, I told him everything. My want to go to Aboveground. My suspicion of his motives for banning me there. I even told him about my passing whimsy of the slavers, which made his mouth thin into a line and his eyes darken to black. But I didn't tell him about our correspondence. I worry that perhaps he would be so upset he may track you down and destroy you. Or at the very least ban me from talking to you. By the time I had finished, he was holding me so close I was worried he would leave bruises, and had the blackest, angriest, darkest look on his face. He was shaking, and a thin glow of glitter sparkled on his skin.

And then he began to speak.

He told me, in the quietest, most emotional tone I had ever heard him use, almost a whisper, that from the first moment he saw me he had been taken with me. He had fallen into an enchantment so deep and so strong he couldn't bear to be out of my sight. He knew the dangers of loving a human, he knew of our fickle hearts and fleeting emotions, but this did not stay his longing.

He told me that the day we married had been the happiest day of his life, and even now, a thousand years later, he could not comprehend why a creature like me should ever wish to stay with him. He told me that he'd never really felt good enough for me, that although I was bloody impossible to live with (here I chuckled a little weakly) and that I could drive the most patient to death with my blasted curiosity, he loved me. He told me that he was terrified I would drift away from him, become bored and cold.

Seeing him like that was heart-breaking. All of his mental walls were down, and when he lifted his face from my neck to look at me I was appalled to see he was crying. It was true, gentle tears ran silently down his cheeks, leaving shining tear tracks glistening with magic, and even then I could hardly help but think how beautiful he really was. Not as he had been in the Labyrinth, but alone, with me, when he allowed his face to relax from that blank mask, and light to shine in his eyes. I couldn't care less if he had been as physically ugly as a hump-backed troll, I am not that sort of person, but...

He told me he was petrified that if I went Aboveground, I would become discontent with my life here, bored of the unchanging nature of the Underground. He was afraid I would see the young mortal boys, with their soft floppy hair, endearing innocence, naiveté, and covet their youthful vibrance and life which he could not possess. He told me he loved me, again and again, he was so scared of losing me. He told me he couldn't understand me, that it killed him to leave me loose where I could harm myself, or become upset, where he couldn't protect me...

I'm sure this all sounds very needy and over-protective to you. But you must understand, faeries are not humans. They do not think the way we do. And I mean not in just longevity, but genuine thought processes. You must understand what a supreme act of will and mental strength it was for Jareth to let me go when I was fifteen. He had had no concept of the idea that I might not wish to be with him, I doubt the idea even occurred to his mind. He sees me as inestimably precious and immensely fragile. That is true, to him, I am as made of glass (we are talking of the fae who punches his way through walls here,) and every instinct he possesses (faeries being a very instinctual race...) is urging him that I must be protected and nurtured and ruled.

Knowing this, I could understand a better part of him. Jareth is more educated in our ways then most faeries, he knows that certain things make us react in certain ways, he knows how to string us along, how to cut us off and how to puppet us, but he cannot understand the thought processes behind the actions. The same way I find him difficult to understand, he is just the same.

I told him I would never leave him, I told him I loved him forever, I told him he was a bloody idiot for thinking so stupidly, and last of all I told him that humans may be fickle, they may be passionate and vibrant and different, but in so many ways, they were exactly the same as faeries.

I am happy now. I feel the missing piece in some inexplicable jigsaw has been slotted gently into place. What a fool I am! All I needed to do was talk to my husband, and things are all well again. I cannot believe my own stupidity sometimes.

I thank you. I thank you all for helping me stop being an idiotic drama queen. But you all had questions and things, did you not? Ah, how rude of me! Ignoring you!

artseblis! No apologies are required, I was silly and foolish. I was full of pent-up emotion and exasperated loneliness. '_The devil shall find work for idle hands' _indeed. I do love my goblin king very much, and I suppose I only questioned his reasons for keeping me from the Aboveground now because I was feeling the first stirrings of, as someone aptly put it, 'a mid-life crisis!'

Aisling66, I do not believe there was a theme. I think it was just a masquerade. I guess it is foolish of me, but I feel better with you all sworn to secrecy. In my spare time, I tend to write. Silly imaginings, yet they comfort me. I also train hunting owls. Jareth draws...well, me.

I remember seeing Jareth's private art gallery for the first time vividly. I was looking for him, and found myself wandering down a spacious hall, filled with exquisite painting after painting of me. My own green eyes stared out from the pictures in vast different poses that I recognised as parts of my life before I came Underground. There were ones of me in the Labyrinth, ones of me before, as a child, as a baby cradled in my mother's arms, playing volleyball in a P.E lesson, so many different paintings! To my vast relief there were not any inappropriate ones, though my cheeks flamed with embarrassment as I realised he must have been privy to most of my private life. But it was not all paintings. There were sculptures of stones, poems, songs, carvings, even several oddly sewn embroideries.

It was quite obvious he had had quite the obsession with me. But thankfully, as I had progressed further down the hall, it turned from memory lane to picturesque paintings of sunsets and birds and other beautiful things, done with such skill it seemed alive. And some other, darker things. People fighting, dead bodies, screaming prisoners hung from glowing metal chains...twisted imaginings of a morbid mind.

Jareth is musical, too. When he is not conversing with his owls, I find him up in his music room, most often sat at his beautiful grand piano, caressing the air with another one of his amazing compositions. He has written stacks of music over the years, all of which is beautiful and varies from classical music so heart-aching it never fails to make me double over and cry, to heavy metal so violent and angry I feel ready to take on three hundred armies and rise triumphant. He has the voice of an angel, and I often find myself swayed completely in one of our arguments because I nodded off to his soothing voice. It can be very irritating at times.

My duties as a queen...Officially? Bear children, fulfil my husband's needs and make sure he's not cold at night. Unofficially? I take care of all those little problems the goblins aren't brave enough to admit to him or Jareth hasn't got time to deal with. I run the castle and manage the affairs of the Goblin City. I also am the Pathmaker, and I take over dealing with the runners when they wish children away. That means I have to search for appropriate families for the children, which takes up a great deal of my time. I support Jareth in council and advise him on courses to take when dealing with other rulers. Whenever Jareth has to be away, he simply turns a deaf ear to each of his sons' insistence that their proper place is managing his affairs while he is away and turns it all over to me.

It is not easy being queen, or king. People may think we live a charmed life but in reality, although our physical comforts are much greater our mental work is much more taxing. Oh, and I have to deal with the fairies as well. Jareth refuses to deal with the 'glittery little pests' as he calls them. I remind him that _he _is a glittery big pest, but all I get is a rather effective Death Glare that could freeze dragonfire.

mysticrox123, I would like it dearly if Jareth could speak to you, but I fear he may misunderstand. Despite my truthfulness to him I find myself reluctant to speak of you.

CrossbreedLove, what an interesting pseudonym. I am happy. Very happy indeed. About my children...I have had twelve children, in age order, Jareth, Jérome, Jasmine, Juhaka, Jenna, Talulah, Joseph, Lireal, Jaeddyn, Linyaari, Jailen, and finally little Vahaya. Faeries do not measure age in the same way humans do and we in fact do not tend to keep track of time. For us there is three states of age, child, young, and mature. Jareth Junior I had before I became immortal. I would rather not speak of that time. He is over a thousand, and not yet married.

He, Juhaka and Jaeddyn are the most notorious male lovers in the Underground next to my own husband, which is rather embarrassing. Of course, my husband has not even touched another woman since he married me, but there were many years before that. All of my children are very good-looking, and they do not lack for partners wherever they wish to, but all the same.

Jenna too, surprised me. Vahaya's first word was die, and Jareth has high hopes for her. Lireal is already married, Talulah is feared throughout the Underground, Linyaari is exactly like me in every way- which we find as funny as Jareth and Jareth do. Jérome is- or was- very innocent and gentle, and has become a healer. Joseph is in the army, and a very good leader. And Jailen...is adorable. He has inherited Jareth's musical ability and charms the socks of everyone- a talent, I suspect, he learned from his daddy- even when in a flaming temper.

But enough from me! What of you?

_Her Majesty, Sarah Mary Anne Willaims, Queen of the Goblins and Champion of the Labyrinth, Wed of His Majesty Lord Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_


	7. Entry 7

Greetings again.

I apologise for my prolonged absence. I have been exhausted. Now that we have our problems worked out, it seems as if my lord husband cannot leave me alone. He keeps me up all night and I am tired in the mornings. After my queenly duties towards hearth and hall have been done, I find myself sneaking away for an hour or so of rest. Thus I have no time to myself, and I have been so tired I find it extremely difficult to concentrate on much.

He knows that as I was originally human, I have a lot less strength, stamina and magic than an immortal. He has always been considerate of my weakness compared to his extraordinary strength (even here, in the heart of the Underground, my sun-and-stars is powerful) but now it seems as if he has forgotten. I cannot get more than five words out in his company before being kissed or similarly distracted.

It was pleasant at first but as I have already said, I am exhausted, and Jareth is so much stronger than I am. I try to tell him I must rest, but he simply does not appear to understand. Oddly enough, he has been absent for a while in the daytimes. His pressing duties require him to be locked in his study or listening to Council, meaning I rarely get to see him nowadays. But when night falls and the goblins creep to bed, not even a whole thunder of Jasmine's fiery dragons could keep him from my side.

I ended up drugging him again. I should stop it, I know. Jareth and I's relationship is based on a long history of alternately drugging and taking advantage of each other. A prime example- when I was running the Labyrinth as a child, he fed me a drugged peach which made me fall into a receptive trance. While I was bewitched, he snuck to my side and stole a quart or two of my blood. Blood has much power in the Underground. This gave him enough power over me, even when I had banished him from my presence, to be able to align himself with the blood's source, ie, my body, and basically read into my health and my activity levels and thus influence them. It's all very complicated. Jareth is the blood-mage (Yes, dark magic, for some reason the High Court doesn't bother to stop him), not I.

I used Nightshade, a poison deadly to humans, but the worst it could do to a fae is lock them in torpor for a few days while their body purged itself. I was very careful putting this on, and crushed a bit of the berries into a paste that looked a little like lipstick and very cautiously put it on. Thus when he kissed me he partook of the Nightshade and within an hour had fallen into torpor.

The first signs;

Skin getting hotter.

Heartbeat slowing.

Pupils dilating.

Faster breathing.

Then they will start to go into torpor.

Skin begins get very cool.

Heartbeat slows even more, in the depths of torpor Jareth's slowest has been recorded as once an hour. Don't worry, they're not dead!

Fae grows very lethargic and begins to lose feeling in their extremities.

Numbness spreads and eyes close.

Breathing slows.

Becomes very still.

If you see this happen, remember that they are only going into torpor! A famous story between two faeries- Romeo and Juliet -in which Juliet poisoned herself and sank into a torpor so deep they all presumed her dead and buried her in a crypt (which was her plan, of course.) Her lover Romeo then stumbled upon her cold body, and killed her family, blaming them. When he realised what he'd done, he killed himself. Juliet awoke and found her plan backfired- her family and friends murdered by her lover and he dead on the floor. She too killed herself out of grief (very melodramatic lot.) Of course, the boy's parents were very proud of him for taking an entire family out with him, but that is beside the point.

I immediately washed the Nightshade from my lips and took care of us both. I then had the best night's sleep I had had since the ball, curled up next to my inert husband's cold side.

I checked him again in the morning, he was fine, and his blood was getting much clearer. I told all the goblins he was ill and leave him alone for a few days. The whole kingdom and I had a little bit of a holiday from being ourselves wherein we just let everything go.

He wasn't angry with me when he woke up yesterday, of course. The same way I try not to be angry with him when he drugs me. It's sort of a thing. Drugging is fine. I don't know. We're a dysfunctional couple.

Anyway, nothing much of interest has happened in the Goblin Kingdom other than my sun-and-stars' molesting, I'm afraid. Oh, there is one thing but first- Aphrodite has got herself a new boy toy. It isn't all that remarkable, she goes through men like a knife through water, but this one is _human._ And he's Jareth's reflection, too. The cheek!

Jareth was _very _surprised when he found out that his reflection was wandering around in the 'Goddess of Love's' palace. There have been quite a few ribald jokes about that.

I just tell him she's jealous of me because I've got the real thing, and the real thing is so much more irritating than the reflection. He laughs at that.

Oh, I am a fool, you would not know of which I speak, would you not? Whenever a faerie is born, there is a mortal born to balance them out. As the Fey are immortal, their mortals, their reflections, die before they do. Thus another mortal is born to continue balancing them out. Not all mortals are reflections. I for one, was not.

Reflections share a few basic traits. Often they look quite a lot like their partner, and tend to perform well in areas that the faerie excels in. If the connection is particularly strong, dreams and desires can be influenced through the link. Jareth's reflections are mostly traceable as musically and dramatically inclined persons. How his current reflection ended up in Aphrodite's 'court' I know not, but I find myself suspicious. Ah, I suspect she can't help it. She has always been put out that he will no longer entertain her since he met me.

We had another runner recently. The most beautiful mortal boy I've possibly ever seen. He had gentle blue eyes and soft caramel hair. He was innocent and sweet and almost fawn like in his beauty. However he had one secret weapon in his arsenal that I did not foresee- bravery. Or shall I say stupidity?

For when I came to do my duty and tell him he had to run the Labyrinth, he was shy and quiet. The next time I went to check up on him, (admittedly, I was a little smitten, he was such a beautiful child, he reminded me of Jailen) he was not! He somehow managed to maneuver me into a position when I was up against a wall without me noticing and then he kissed me! The cheek! I shoved the mortal child away, of course, and Jareth was alerted almost immediately. He appeared in a terrible rage and almost crushed the boy's skull like an egg before I stopped him. Then the babe had the _nerve _to smirk and say I was protecting him because I _wanted _him! A _mortal human! _Hah! When I had Jareth? When I had an immortal faerie dying to do my will, hanging on my every word? A _mortal human child, _when I had _JARETH? _I am sure you could understand my condescending attitude. But I cannot help it. Ah!

I was quite wroth. I found myself hissing in the darkest, most deadly voice that Jareth was everything and anything I needed. I told him my age. I lied a little bit about the extent of my power, but seeing as I have Jareth wrapped around my little finger power won't be a problem. I tormented him. I asked him, plainly, whether he would like to see me as I truly was.

And the silly boy-child replied, Of course, if I was naked! Jareth nearly killed him outright. And then he had the nerve to say Jareth was an overprotective, overbearing fool in tights that obviously wasn't good enough for his women, and that I should 'get it' from a _real _man. Bah! Being honest, Jareth isn't exactly a man, but that is different. I found myself laughing so hard I cried. 'Jareth' and 'not good enough for women' just do not belong in the same sentence.

So I sent him a nightmare. Featuring myself, in a more goblin aspect. And Jareth, in his Other form (I'm not talking about the owl). Oh! His screams were pleasant to watch. Suffice to say, his older brother didn't go back home after all.

Yes. Well. Anyway. I'm sure you don't want to know the gory details of our habit of tormenting the runners who are too forward with either of us. Well, Jareth's habit of tormenting the runners who are too forward with me. He just flirts back with all the ladies, even if they are as ugly as hump-backed trolls.

But I have to say, that child was the worst we've had in a while. He tried to kiss me! It wasn't even a proper kiss. Disgusting. I cannot help but giggle a bit even thinking of it now. Right. On to you people.

Thank you kind ladies and sirs, for your patient replies to my dreary little bemoan! And that was a sentence worthy of Sir Didymus. Love of the Labyrinth, I'm as giddy as a child today.

Lunastarr! I like your pseudonym. As I said, I have been tired of late. We do not keep track of the years in the Faerie Realm, especially in the Core of Magic (the Labyrinth) where time is so flexible you can actually manipulate it as if it were putty, if you have the right skills. I have no idea what year it is. As for what year it was when I left…*cough*Idon'twantyoutoknowmyage*cough* I have said before I don't particularly wish to elaborate on Jareth and I's personal history…some shames are just too embarrassing to remember.

Yes, we are aware there was some sort of film and book made about us. I believe that if we of the Realm were to see your film, it would cause several paradoxes and possibly cause us some very ill effects. Jareth says he has gleaned the knowledge from the Internet no less, and he tells me it isn't worth watching. He was very indignant. He says the way it's done makes him looks like he sprays glitter like a household fairy and he's not nearly appealing enough. He thinks it's impossible to capture the pure (his words, not mine) _perfection _of himself. He showed me a fairth (a kind of painting) of himself from this film and I couldn't help but giggle a bit. Perhaps I should correct you.

His hair is paler than it is in the film, except when it's in the sun, when it goes golden. His eyes do appear black most of the time, but other times his mismatched irises are clear. His hair is longer now, too. Faeries have this thing about cutting their hair. They don't like it. But aside from that. He thinks I don't look pretty enough too, and I'm not nearly as annoying as I actually was, which was sweet.

Person3162012, or Ruby. Whichever you prefer. Your description of your brother sounds much like I would describe Jareth when I was young. (Notice the, 'when I was young'. We won't go into how old he is.) 'Touchy-feely'. He was constantly asking to do my hair for me (he has this really odd obsession with doing it in plaits) and he once even asked me if he could paint my nails. He treated me sort of like a big doll. And he was always touching me! He just doesn't understand the concept of personal space. As in, space around a person. But he was very sweet. Sometimes. Well, not really. Annoying.

I did have a cat once. A kitten. Jareth brought it from the Aboveground for me. A stray. I called him Gaelin, just to tease Jareth. However, Jareth got so frustrated when I refused to pay him any attention, instead focusing on Gaelin, he all but drowned the poor fluffball. Of course, my revenge was instant and brutal, a fluffy liddle owl held under in the bath for a little while. Then he left Gaelin alone for a very long time.

U.S. U.S. It rings a bell…United States? Is that it? Oh yes, America. My apologies. I find it difficult to remember Aboveground. I think that is from where I hail. Is it not? My memory in my old age…

firerock876, you are very right. Jareth positively delights in messing with people's emotions. He adores spying on them to find their deepest dreams and using them to manipulate and sway them- like a huge game of chess, playing against life itself. I was not supposed to go to the Labyrinth. My destiny, apparently, was quite different. But from the moment Jareth first wormed his way into my dreams when I was four, everything for me changed. He may no longer be Keeper of Nightmares, but he is still Master of Time, Lord of Death (yes, they actually call him that) and possibly my favorite, the Dark Viper. Come on. Don't you just love it? I tease him about it all the time. My Dark Viper and his gilded lies.

I'm sure you can be very persuasive. I doubt you could win against the devil, or Jareth. Definitely not Jareth. He is part demon, you know. It is their job to sway people. I argue with walls all the time. Granted, they're the Labyrinth's walls, and I hardly ever win, but all the same. On one memorable occasion, I was trapped in an oubliette furnished with a single, large bed, and too worried to call Jareth on the fear he might get the wrong idea.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of an immortal? It is their eyes that always give them away. Jareth's eyes swirl with stars and secrets and lies. They are dark and reflect the firelight in ways that make him look like he is burning inside. They are depthless. They are timeless. They are ancient, they are awing, and whenever I look into them I find I always have to sit, or catch my breath, because the sheer _weight _of all those years suddenly slams down on my shoulders, of this perfect frail thing, and I can't breathe for the beauty of it all.

I have looked at many flowers. I have seen wonders and beauties you could never imagine, and yet, I find the simplest, most beautiful thing of them all are his eyes, gleaming softly with mystery in the firelight. And my children. Nothing can compare to the beauty of your child, your own flesh and blood, nestling against you, blinking up at you with their round eyes.

And for your previous question, I did not 'spaz', I had to quickly and hurriedly hide this machine from his view. As it was, I barely made it. I would bet you cannot do a smirk as well as my sun-and-stars.

Elphaba Rose Wilde, I thank you for your cordiality. I am saddened that you should be in such a pensive mood and I pray that you will recover quickly. And indeed the ball was most fantastic. I have not attended one of the like in many years.

Aisling66, I do. I feel a lot better now. I thank you, all of you! You have turned my life, all of you. May your years be long and heavy with fruit!

_Her Majesty, Sarah Mary Anne Williams-Sylfaen, Queen of the Goblins, Keeper of Dreams, Wed of His Majesty Lord Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_


	8. Entry 8

**Thank you for all your kind reviews!**

MY HUSBAND IS A SEXIST OBNOXIOUS BASTARD! WHY THE HELL DID I EVER MARRY SUCH A GODDAMN CANKER-BLOSSOMED SOUL-WILTED BLOOD-DILUTED _**ASSHOLE?**_ I must have been drugged or something when I agreed to let that idiot even _near _me! How the hellfire dare he!

Apparently, I am not _allowed, _yes, not _allowed, _to learn how to defend myself. I am _forbidden _to take up any arms in training or combat. I'll just stay at home and fuck myself while I wait for my _**dearly beloved husband **_to come home.

Oh God. Did I actually just write that?

Yes. Yes I did. I'm so sorry. I just…GAH!

Take my advice. Never marry a faerie man. They may be great for sex and no mortal man can compare, yadda yadda, but Mr. Perfect is _annoying. _Everything I do, he is better at it. The children, the goblins, the council, everything. I bet he'd be able to even _give birth _better than I could if he made a few alterations.

I guess I owe you people an explanation.

I had been dealing with the goblins all day. I was frustrated, tired, and I had no patience left. Naturally, Vahaya starts screaming. Whatever I do, I cannot get her to shut up. Mr. Perfect comes down, gives her a pat on the head and she miraculously goes quiet! What a surprise! And then he turns around and says he's going to take a party and kill the slavers along our western border. I volunteer immediately, and he _forbids _me from coming.

I am much stronger than the average human. I can run faster, train harder, swim longer, lift more than any other human alive. Partly because I am not wholly human, partly because I spend three hours every morning in a gym working my ass off, literally.

But he won't let me learn how to fight. Sexist idiot.

I'm sorry. I'm going to be no company today. Well, I may as well answer you, and I deeply apologize for my ranting earlier…

Suuki-Aldrea, if I could go Aboveground I'd travel the world. I want to see everything. I want to know what you believe in, why you believe in it, I want to compare your buildings with ours, I want to find out what you eat, what you farm, how you work and what you do. I want to see how your young are tutored, I want to learn how you shop, who rules you, what you do in your free time. I want to know everything.

I am dubious of the beauty of Aboveground. My _'sun-and-stars' _tells me it is a cold place full of fear and strife, closer matching your comment, Aldrea. Suuki, what is a 'downer'?

I believe it would be next to impossible to frighten Jareth with something as mundane as zombies, considering he _is _a blood mage, a demon, and a faerie. The dead are hardly new to him. What are roller coasters? Coasters are things to put cups on, are they not? By Halloween, I assume you mean Samhain, the festival of the dead and of swans, of mating, royal marriage and maintaining the kingdom through courage and pain?

Kashelle357, I appreciate the offer to 'crash' at your 'place', though I assure you that if we ever should visit the Aboveground, we would be trying our hardest to not crash, especially not in anyone's place. And I doubt very much you would like to have me over for even a few days…The flaming rows, the frequent locking of myself and my husband in the bedroom for extended periods of time, the incessant flirting, the _goblins…_I have been told that we are a very annoying couple to have round. Not to mention destructive…Have I mentioned that time, when Jareth and I were on our honeymoon, and we destroyed half of the Elven Queen's forest with our games?

mysticrox123, the male runner _was _very obnoxious. Frequently I get runners who remind me of me- although Jareth- (the flirting liar that he is) assures me I was a lot prettier, a lot more annoying, and a lot more devastating.

Aisling66, I won't say Jareth as my favorite thing in the Underground, because I expect you could guess that…

There is a waterfall I know of. Frothy white water pours over grey rocks and thunders towards a wide basin in a valley. The water swirls and clears, presenting a perfect mirror lake framed by willow trees with their leaves hanging deep in the water. Purple, deep-throated blossoms known as nighthearts carpet the spaces between the trees.

There, I had my first kiss. There, Jareth proposed to me. That waterfall is very dear in our hearts. Or the magic, another favorite. Nothing can compare to magic.

The thing I miss most about the Aboveground is probably fellow humans. Their sheer ignorance, their silliness, their, well, _humanity._ I miss all that.

I hope we shall speak again soon, when I am not in such a bad temper.

_Her Majesty Sarah Williams-Sylfaen, Queen of Dreams and of Goblins, wedded of Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen_


	9. Entry 9

Salutations, mortals.

Once again, it seems that I must apologise. I have been far too open with you. I know you are only young fleeting humans, and that perhaps I have ruined your precious mortal innocence with my addled babbling. It would be best for me to discontinue this intercourse.

But I find myself in dire need to express my thoughts once more. I pray forgiveness, and I promise that no more shall I bother you with my incessant foolhardiness. I am sure you have many other things to do then listen to the bored whining of an asinine queen.

My King has gone. He left at dawn three days ago with three squads of his most elite warriors- one blood-wraith squad, one goblin squad and...There is no name for them in this tongue. The red warriors of pain mounted on their ferocious beasts of fire. He took his warhorse Hlaupa Freohr and vows he will destroy the slavers along our western border and find from where they hail.

He has not yet returned. I worry- foolishly, I know, but I am a childish, idiot queen, and I fear deeply for my King's safety. It feels that in the days he has been gone everything has turned grey- grey is the clouds that brew ominously in the roiling skies, grey is the bleak expressions of the quiet goblins, grey is me. For that is the truth of it. I am grey.

Without him, I am nothing. I am nobody. I am simple and plain and stupid. My King is my world. He is the driving force that leads us all. What should I do alone?

I am not worthy of being his queen. The thoughts I cannot rid myself of bounce helplessly in my skull, so I fess them up to you. It is silly for me to entrust you with my problems and fears- I am sure you must be thoroughly bored of my vapidity, but I cannot help but find myself afeard. I complain of doing his will. I protest at his superiority. All this time at his side, and yet I have not once seen my luck?

Why is it that I have never seen the favour he bestows upon me with his very presence, his continued perseverance in curing me of my idiocy? Why has it taken me this long to realise the magnificent luck he has blessed me with, to allow me to love him, to grow his seed within my belly, to share his councils, his secrets and his dreams?

I can never be enough for him. I am puny and weak, I am ugly and magicless. How dare I have ever thought of him as my equal? I never will be. He is strong. He is wise, he is ancient. He is everlasting, he is infinite and beautiful beyond compare. I am his. I am his.

I am not his mistress, I am not his queen, I am certainly not his ruler. For to be those would imply me to have some vestige of power, some _intelligence _harbouring within me. And yet there is none.

I am grey, I am nothing. I have forgotten how quiet the goblins are without their impish ruler at hand. I feel that without him, I am a void, frozen in ice, only to be melted by the hot fires of his endless personality and vivid beauty. What has happened to me? Where is the fire and passion that used to fuel me? Have I burned down? Are my fires banked?

For my vitality is a reflection of his. I am a fake. I am a nobody, without him. Even my children sense my subterfuge. Vahaya looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes, sharp and piercing like her father's. Condemning me. Jailen stares at me, and there is a truth hidden in his innocent gaze.

_I do not belong._

I am no goblin. I am no faerie. I do not belong at a beautiful king's side, caring for him, raising his children, running his kingdom. I am a base human. I should have died nine hundred years ago after living my pathetic mortal life in my pathetic cold world with my pathetic job and pathetic friends. That is what I am.

I was never destined to be great. I was never destined to be wise, or strong, or beautiful, or clever. And yet I must be all. He used his magic to perfect my human flaws. He says I am strong, I am clever, I am beautiful. And wisdom will come with time.

But I'm not. How can this be? I am _human. _He is repulsed by humans. He hates you. He thinks that you are baseborn and vile. He thinks _I _am baseborn and vile. He thinks you are dim and foolish. He thinks you are vain and petty.

Are we? I ask him, are we? Then why, my love, did you ever allow your gorgeous gaze to fall upon me? And he smiles, and will kiss me, and whispers, you are different, my spitfire.

But I am not a spitfire. Not anymore. I have lost my challenge. I have lost my intrigue. I am boring. He won't want me anymore, not when he sees what I have become. I can't let him go. What can I return to? Aboveground? I am fae enough that iron in my blood will kill me. What do I do- not eat? I am immortal. However can I leave his side?

I would wither, dying forever, in your world. My foolishness is so apparent now. Forever I am cut apart, forever I was different, ever since I let that curse wish past my lips. How can you return to the mundane once you have tasted the magical? How can I let him go?

I can't. I can't. What can I do? I must act. He must not see who I have become. Otherwise he will not want me. He will send me away, and I will never see my beautiful Vahaya, my gorgeous Jailen, my fiery Jasmine, my fearsome Talulah, my playboy Jaeddyn, so much like his dad, and his brother Juhaka, my innocent Linyaari, my gentle Jérome, my sweet, lusty Jenna, and my smart, handsome Joseph.

Or worse he could keep me as some sort of management staff and find other women, beautiful, interesting, fiery women, to interest him. Is that what he's doing now? Why am I such a naive fool? Why would he give up his ways and his women for a silly chi' like me?

I miss him. I miss him so much all the colour has drained from my world. He is the vibrant life that buoys me through the darkness. I am needy, I am stupid, I am ugly and I am weak. It would be kinder to just leave, to just allow him to move past me and get on with his life.

But I am too weak and needy to allow him even that. Is this what love does to you? It drains you of all you were until you cannot live without your love?

And once you taste the forbidden, can you ever really return?

_Her Majesty Sarah Mary Anne Williams-Sylfaen, Queen of Dreams, and Wedded of His Majesty Lord Jareth Oberon Gaelin Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_


	10. Entry 10

**Thank you, Ariena-Rose Eveilebe! I can safely say you have just made my day. **

I know I said I wouldn't bother you again, but...Jareth is wounded. Fatally wounded. The healers have told me to prepare for the worst.

He's going to die.

The warriors came in yesterday, and he was cold on their shields. There were unabashed tears running down their cheeks. A gaping wound stretches over my love's back, from shoulder to hip.

He's going to die. He's going to die and I'm going to be alone.

I can't...He's gone into torpor. His heart rate is one beat per half-hour. He is so cold ice forms in his beautiful hair. Poison. There was poison on the blade.

A chance in a million. His wards should have stopped the blow. He was cut from behind. The soldiers say he was jumping back to avoid a hit, and one of the slavers they presumed dead rose up and slashed him shoulder to hip. The one time his magic failed him...

It shouldn't have happened! He _is..._Oh God, will I have to say he was? Gone...No, no, no...

The only sounds he makes are little moans of pain. It's horrible. He lies there, his gleaming silver blood staining the sheets, ice in his hair, locked deep in torpor. Please, please, please, Danu, let him live. Let him live.

I should have been there. I should have been there! I could have helped him. But no, I was here, drifting around self-pityingly like some stupid housewife waiting for his return!

Oh, my love...My heart, my passion, my stupid idiot of a faerie...He may be a glitter-obsessed, ancient legging-wearing freak but he's _my _glitter-obsessed ancient legging wearing freak! He doesn't have my goddamn permission to die!

He can't die. Please, you have to help me. You have to! There must be something we can do, something you can do! You're humans! You have...no idea what to do...You would kill him just as you would save him.

I will never see his eyes open again. His voice will never speak. He will be...gone.

Danu, Danu, please save him, please, please...

I do love him. I do. I know it seems like we fight all the time, but I do. I would walk to the ends of the earth for him. He is the light of my life. I know you say he is not, but he is. There is nowhere else I can go but the Goblin Kingdom. The Labyrinth, the goblins, my children, and my love. That is all I have. Jareth is what makes the long years bearable. I am only human. I would go mad if not for him.

Oh! Why did you not guard yourself, you stupid idiot? This is why I should have gone with you! Because I am not an egotistical twat who thinks he's invulnerable!

Widowed at the age of one-thousand and thirty-two...There is a cure for every poison, isn't there? He was poisoned with a poultice of iron mixed with seabeach. Burn thyme, mash some clover...Yes, I will need some rose, balm of gilead...

He won't die. I won't let him die. I may be weak, I may be human, but I sure as hell will not let him die! And next time, he can sit at home and sew while I go off to fight the wars!

I can't. I can't. I won't let him go! So help me, I will find the thrice-damned cure even if it means I have to fight my way past three hundred goddamn labyrinths, defeat a thousand kings! I am Sarah Sylfaen, and I will not give up!

_Her Majesty Sarah Mary Anne Williams-Sylfaen, Champion of the Labyrinth and Wedded to Lord Jareth Gaelin Oberon Sylfaen, King of the Goblins_


	11. Entry 11

My friends!

I bear wonderful news! He shall live! And he shall live with only a scar marring his back. I cannot say so well of myself, but I do not matter, for the Goblin King shall live. He sleeps, still deep in torpor, but his flesh has returned to normal colours and he has begun reacting to the poultices and healing his wound.

My saving of him has exacted a heavy price, but one that I would give twice, or thrice, to save him. When I left, I had only a day to save him. I didn't have enough time to research what I needed- so I went to the Heart of the Labyrinth, and I let the powers overwhelm me.

With the magic of the Labyrinth singing through my bones, I stopped time. Everything stopped- even my own heart. For a brief second, I died, and then with an almighty rush, I cast myself back through the thick treacle of events past to a two weeks hence.

I surfaced in an unknown grove. I was exhausted, and couldn't move for tiredness. But the Labyrinth spurred me on, and as my skin began to wrinkle and crease, I came upon Jareth's troops, readying themselves for battle.

I hid, knowing that if I intervened in the past I could create a paradox, and possibly unwrite myself from the pages of history. The penalties of messing with time is severe, and Jareth has forbidden me from ever trying to rewind even a second, and yet, there I was, going back two weeks.

Every moment I spent in the past seemed longer, more wearying, dragging than the rest. I was losing control quickly, but the Labyrinth kept me anchored firmly to the present- otherwise I should be lost.

My bones creaking with fatigue, I crept to the slavers' camp. They were all there, rolled up in their bedrolls around a crackling fire. A watchman was there, but fast asleep, a bottle of wine cradled against his side. The night air was chilly and made my panting breath into clouds of condensation. The slaves moaned and snored from their rickety wooden cages.

In the gloom, I sneaked forward, and examined each slaver. I finally found the owner of the sword that had maimed my love, and although it pained me to even consider not killing him where he lay; I slipped him some knockout potions and dragged him into the trees. He was a heavyset faerie of middle age, with short, shaved brown hair- violation of faerie custom- and a face devoid of identification tattoos. He was wearing a thick rawhide jerkin and bristly stiff trousers, with a wide belt around his waist and the accursed sword at his hip.

I woke him with several slaps to the face- after tying him up, of course. He screamed when he saw my dragging face, and after looking at myself now, I cannot blame him. I drew his sword and nicked his finger with it. I asked him what the poison was and how it could be treated. He refused to answer. Since asking nicely didn't appear to work, I took a leaf out of my sun-and-stars' book and tortured him until he gave me what I wanted.

He had a pouch at his belt, containing starrup seeds, which ground and mashed into a paste, could be smeared generously over the victim's wound, bringing out the poison, and then be treated normally. I didn't kill him, but dragged him back to his camp and left him there.

Then I let the Labyrinth pull me away, back to the present.

I was hideous. But I had no time to waste on my appearance, and hurried quickly back to the castle, as fast as my creaking bones could allow. Even the goblins scrambled screaming from my horrific visage. The many healers sent by kingdoms fled from me as I burst into my king's chambers, but I cared not a jot.

I applied the paste quickly, and within an hour or two, the poison began to ooze out. I collected it in a jar and disposed of it accordingly. Then, I sat by my king's side, waiting, and watching.

It was then I caught a glimpse of myself in the lacquered wood of our bedstead.

I look like a monster. My beauty has withered, and my brown locks have turned decrepit grey, and begun to fall out. My face is sagging with wrinkles and my skin papery with age, my veins pulsing visibly. My green eyes are faded and dull, and my joints are swollen with arthritis. I look like a hag, a witch.

Even I cried out when I saw me. I couldn't believe it. But then I remembered Jareth's words when he forbid me from going near time..._"Always be careful, for time will exact a harsher price than the debt owed." _And it had.

I am ostracized from immortality, and my youth has been taken away. But I death is the end of a time, and that could not be allowed, so now I hover on the brink, a wizened old crone. I was- and still am- completely unrecognisable from the vigorous beauty I was just a scant hour before.

I decided that I couldn't let Jareth see me like this. I would stay until he was healed, and then I would be gone. Some part of my decision is vanity, some part, the most, is shame, and another, fear.

How do you think it would affect an immortal like Jareth, he who sees no endings and no beginnings, to see I who was when he left youthful, passionate and free, a crone? Can you even imagine the mental trauma that would cause him? He would go quite mad. And my children. I will never see them again, for it would hurt them just as truly to see the extent of my immortality.

It may sound stupid, it may sound silly. But think about it. Pause, for a moment. It would hurt him so much more to see me like I am now than to learn I am dead. He can carry the images of my young face and sparkling eyes to his grave, and to see me like this would as much make him suicide as live.

It hurts. It hurts so much, and I love him, and how am I going to live without him? He is my world, my light, my fire. How can I just leave?

But on my wedding day I swore that I would love him, cherish him and honour him, protect his young and his home, safeguard his heart and listen to his thoughts and wishes. And so I have sacrificed myself to save him, so I shall sacrifice my happiness for his.

Surely, one day, he will love again. The rumours about a faerie's fragile heart is untrue. You can understand, can't you? I know I probably sound very melodramatic and vain.

But I am in an unchanging world. In the Aboveground, you are used to watching your loved ones wither away and die. Here, that is not so.

And how can I go back Above? Where will I go? What will I do? I just don't know. I can't go back to my homeworld. What would I do- be put in one of those soul-sucking retirement homes that takes in healthy old mortals and churns out corpses?

No, no, no. Call me stubborn, call me proud, but I cannot, will not, subject myself to such a debilitating death. Nay, I would rather take nightlock and be done with it. But I cannot leave yet. I must nurse my love back to health, and then I will watch over him to make sure he doesn't do anything unbearably stupid like rewinding time to save me, or suiciding, before I go to sleep.

I'm terrified. Everyone runs from me as if I have the plague. I am feared and hated. I speak to only you, and only because you cannot see my hideous face. I know that Jareth is not so petty as to be concerned with the state of my flesh, but he would as soon kill me as he would caress me. In my immortal form, I was about three times more resilient, stronger, faster healing, less breakable. As a mortal, he could snap me like a twig. This old, and I'm as breakable as wet paper.

I cannot let him suffer so. It is not fair, for him, or for me. The forever youthful and the dull mortals should never mix.

But I love him so. How can I abandon him when he needs me most? I am truly a monster...

You can't see it, but my hands are shaking as I write, and bending my fingers is painful. My tears run down my cheeks, and every so often- I cannot help myself, I reach out, and caress his smooth young cold cheek, and that only makes me cry harder, because I'll never see his eyes full of love and adoration turned on me again. Instead, hate, loathing.

But I will do him this service at least, and wait until he awakes.

He has awaken! Yesterday, in truthful fact. I was there, by his side, when he opened his eyes. At first, he looked around in muzzy confusion, and then saw me by his side.

"'Healer," he calls in a rasping voice, "What has transpired?"

Perfunctorily, I reply, "You were injured, sire. You have been unconscious for almost three weeks."

He grimaces as he tries to move his back. Sweat oils his muscles as he tries to push himself to his feet. I move quickly, and push him back down, careful to avoid his wound. I cannot help but notice the way his smooth skin flinched from my gnarled brown hands, and a knife slices my heart.

"Stop!" I cry, and only then realise how presumptuous I must have sounded. His eyes narrows and he glares at me. Inside, I am dying, to see him glare at me like that. "Sire," I add hastily, "You are not healed enough to be moving."

He growls, but obediently follows my orders. He stares at me, sweeping every inch of my horrific, wasted body with his powerful gaze, and it takes the strongest of wills to not shudder. I must keep up my old healer guise, and an old healer certainly would not be getting fresh with the king. Even if he is my husband...

A strange looks enters his eyes as he locks gazes with me. For a brief moment I fear he has recognised me, but luckily he relaxes and asks me softly, "Where is my queen?"

My heart clenches. More fool me, I had garnered some brief hope he would recognise me, and heal me, and hold me in his arms as I have always ever wished. I swallow, and say equally quietly, "She is gone, your majesty."

"Gone?" He shoots up; in such a quick, fast movement I could barely see him. At the same time he groans in pain and falls back on the sheets. I hurry forward and arrange him comfortably on the bed. He protests, but I shush him with an elderly 'huff' and a snide remark about silly youths.

Even though he is older than anything I have ever known...

"Where is she?" He gasps, franticly. "Where is my Sarah?"

My battered heart rips even more. I cast my eyes down, and can't help the tears brewing in my eyes.

"_Noo_oooo..." He moans, "No, no, no! Tell me she is fine. Tell me she is here!"  
Quietly, I tell him that the queen sacrificed her life so that he might live.

He howls, in the purest, most unbearable agony I have ever heard. He curls up in a fetal position, hands over his ears, as if he could block out my words. He screams, and sobs, pitifully. "Take me to her," he insists, and his eyes are so wide and deranged I found my knees shaking.

"The body is but dust, my lord," I whisper.

"Then kill me," he snarls, and I can see the demon in him. His skin is darkening rapidly and his nails clench into claws. "Kill me now!"

_**NO. **_A world without Jareth was a dead world. No, no, no, no. Jareth _would never die._ "Would you render her sacrifice worthless!" I snap, desperation clear in the way I grab at his shoulders. "Would you throw away the life she has gifted you with her own!"

Inside, I was amazed I was still functioning enough to speak. It feels as if I had a massive hole blown through my chest, the jagged edges throbbing.

He is crying, pitifully, pathetically, shaking under my hands. The mad grief and despair in his eyes looks alien in his face. And then, he collapses. I fear suddenly he has achieved his wish and died- but then I realise that each of his muscles has simply gone limp.

He wails, and the sound is rich and throbbing in his beautiful voice, and even now he sounds like an angel fallen from heaven. He claws at himself, ripping at his flesh with his demon claws, his hair turning flat black, his eyes widening and darkening, and suddenly I know I am in terrible danger. If I do not stop the process, he will Turn, and destroy everyone and everything in the three worlds.

I act quickly. I pound him through with a syringe full of blesswood extract, which sent him deep into a dreamless sleep.

Sweet mortals, stay with me. I will need your help and your courage to face these hard times ahead. Now, you are my only solace, for who can I tell of my terrible treachery?

_Sarah Williams-Sylfaen, Champion of the Labyrinth_


	12. Entry 12

Companions,

Why is it that the eyes of a child are so much more far-seeing than those of an adult? I ran into my young Jareth today. He was walking, shoulders slumped, with Juhaka miserable at his side and Jaeddyn, equally as glum-faced. I, of course, don't trust their long expressions for an instant- more likely they were mourning the loss of some pretty girl than of their mother.

I immediately scraped into a bow and hurried on my way, keeping my rank hair over my wrinkled face. But all three recognised me almost instantly.

"Mother?" Jaeddyn whispered, slightly incredulously, as he spun round. "Mother!"

"But you-" Juhaka began, his brown eyes wide with confusion.

"Shh," I put a finger to my lips. "My children, how do you recognise me like this?"

Jareth snorted, and said, "When you see a pretty lady, you learn to recognise her in all her forms pretty quickly if you don't want your way barred."

While I chided him for lewdness, Juhaka shook his head, slowly. "This is amazing!" He cried, and leapt forward to hug me.

I know it may sound odd, but most faeries are far more physical with affection, as I am sure you may have guessed. Between friends, a kiss of the lips more suitable for lovers in the human world is perfectly courteous and proper here. Faeries have no compunctions about giving themselves to other faeries, and down here selling yourself for the pleasure of another being is considered the highest act of charity and honour.

They also have no restraints in public, in festivals it is quite common to see faeries in the corners of the room lip-locked. As I have explained before, faerie custom is vastly different from human custom, and I must say it took me a long while to stop cringing and shying away.

But anyways. Juhaka would have crushed me quite by accident, so I cried "Stop!"

I explained my predicament and my children listened attentively. And then Jaeddyn asked softly, "Why didn't you tell us? We can keep a secret."  
I told them I thought it would hurt them, and Juhaka declared that was bullshit, and while I lectured him for swearing, we headed off to Jenna's quarters to tell her of the news.

She was not alone, but I simply got Jareth the younger to slam open the door and breezed in, while the poor man yelped and yanked up his breeches.

I was secretly amused at his reaction- he should fear the Goblin Queen after taking my daughter, but I yawned and said in a blasé voice that it was nothing I hadn't seen before and get the hell out of my daughter's room before I throw you out of a window.

Jenna, dressing, was angry at me, but relieved I was alive, I suppose.

We went around the castle, gathering up my children, but there were a few away.

Joseph is serving in His Majesty The High King's Royal Army, and Jérome is away,learning his craft. Talulah is off somewhere- probably swinging that sword of hers, Lireal, of course, is already married, and Jasmine is deep in the Crags with her dragons.

I sat down, my Jareth, Juhaka, Jaeddyn, Jenna, Jailen, and Vahaya on Jenna's lap, and I told them everything, the poison, my manipulation of Time, which is only something masters can do after lifetimes of studying, so they were very impressed, and my subsequent aging. I told them of my subterfuge with my sun-and-stars, and while they were clearly not happy with that, I suppose they couldn't do anything of it.

Juhaka begged me to reconsider, telling his father everything, but I was firm. I also forbade them from touching me- faeries can be enthusiastic with their hugs, and I don't particularly feel any great need to be crushed to dust.

Even my children see better than my husband. Was it just my luck to get the most beautiful, gentle, passionate, idiotic, possessive unobservant man in the whole Underground?

Senshi At Heart, I doubt there is a way for me to regain my youth, at least, not without dark magic. The price was paid for going back in time, and I cannot cheat time of its payment. And even if I could, there is no way to make someone young again. You can give an old woman the body she had at nineteen. You can create a new body, but their memories would be wiped, and why would you wish such a thing on your partner? Nay, I am mortal now.

I would greatly appreciate it if you could refrain from addressing me in the third person, however. I am aware you did not mean any harm by it but it could be considered a breach of courtesy. I certainly do hope there is a light at the end of the tunnel, unless it is nighttime, and then there would be no light.

Suuki-Aldrea, a price I would pay five times over. My life is worthless in comparison to my sun-and-stars' or my children's.

Elphaba Rose Wilde...As ever, your gentle notes remind me of the compassion of the human race in saving their kin. But I am helpless in this- no magic I know of could make me young again. Perhaps Jareth would know more- but I cannot ask him. And I can read so little of the books in the library...I was young, and I had no time to learn Ancient Fay, which is what most of the books are written in.

Thank you, mysticrox123, thank you, thank you. You do not comprehend the amount your loyal steadfastness reassures me. I will stay strong, for my husband, for my children, I can stay strong enough to destroy more labyrinths than there are seconds in a day.

And so this entry ends...I must tend to Jareth. He wakes soon, and in his grief he is all but incomprehensible.

Farewell,

_Lady Sarah Williams- Sylfaen, Champion of the Labyrinth_


	13. Entry 13

Greetings, dear friends.

Why is it that a man turns to drink to drown his sorrows? My sun-and-stars began drinking early this morning, a little swig of wine, nothing more, and I did not intervene. It would have not been my place as a lowly healer to question the king, and besides, he was up, walking, and talking.

He moves like a zombie. It's horrific, the way the grace and light has drained from him like someone flicked a switch and he's dead. There is this glassy, unresponsive look in his glazed eyes and sometimes I have to repeat myself several times before he hears me. When he does speak, it is in a flat monotone that is somehow worse than his dark, despairing silence.

He moved back to our quarters today from the infirmary. I stayed with him under my healer pretence, pretending to be worried that he would overwork himself, but in truth, I was far more worried about his mental health than his physical. He went through my box of special things, with tears dripping down his cheeks. I don't think he even noticed I was there.

When he found my diary, including a long, loving note I had supposedly left him before I 'died', he began to weep in earnest, and curled up in a ball, his skin releasing gentle tears of glitter.

That, more than anything, was what tipped me off.

I know that he would suffer grief of my supposed death. But he only ever gives off glitter in extreme heights of emotion, heights of emotion I have only ever driven to him twice. Once, when I gave myself to him the first time, the other, when I rejected him.

After a thousand years of living and loving with him, it has only ever happened _twice. _And for him to be quite so deeply disturbed by my death to do so again gnaws at my broken heart.

Not even when I birthed my many stillborns, not even when my children sickened and died before their young lives could catch hold. Not even...Not even when my young, gentle Toby, my second child, died of iron poisoning. Not even when I held his son, his heir, Jareth, up to his eyes, his and I's creation.

He is broken. He hurts, so deeply, so bloodily, I fear he will never emerge from the core of misery he has locked himself in. And it pains me too, for we are no less bonded, and his pain is mine.

I love him so much I ache with the force of it. I am doing the right thing, aren't I? This is best for him. He must understand, he must live on!

I will wither and die, a mortal rose, blooming, dying, on borrowed time. Who will care for our children in not for him? I would never see them given to the charge of some foreign and strange governess. And as much as it kills me, he must take another queen.

He is too beautiful, too wise, too kind, too gentle and loving, too _perfect, _to be wasted mourning after me, stupid, asinine, foolish me.

He has been drinking steadily throughout the day. By noon, he was roaring drunk, and he is no passive, calm drunk. A fey of his power drunk is a disaster waiting to happen.

I ended up giving him blesswood extract again, to make him sleep peacefully. I know he cannot sleep away his troubles, but he can at least heal. And avoid blowing up my castle, thank you very much.

I have spent my spare time perusing over dusty tomes in our great Library. You have raised my hopes, Elphaba Rose Wilde, perhaps there may be a cure? I know not. But I search anyway, although I know there will not be. There cannot be, there is no way to turn back the hands of time.

Thank you, Kashelle357, your encouragement does mean a lot to me. Without all you kind readers I would not have had the strength to continue thus far. I have my children to talk with now, but they are young, and I cannot confide in them the deep matters of my heart. It is a relief that you cannot see my face, for it is no ordinary aging process I have undergone. Every beauty I once had is gone. Even my eyes, once sparkling and bright, are faded and dull. My smile, cracked and broken. Time has taken my beauty and my immortal youth from me, and I feel there is no inner beauty to shine through on my ravaged flesh.

Indeed, Suuki-Aldrea- walls do have ears. And those ears are belonging to the Labyrinth, who adores me, and has freely agreed to hide me from my sun-and-stars. She does not fully understand why and is much saddened by the prospect of us living apart, but surmises it is simply a fun game of ours. The Labyrinth finds us as difficult to understand as we do Her...

I...I am so old. Ariena-Rose Eveilebe, I am old compared to you youthful humans, but I am a child in comparison to the faeries. I am not even a fraction of Jareth's age, he has been alive longer than Earth has, of that I am certain. Who knows when or what he really is? But aside. I guess the cat's out of the bag now, though. Yes, I am 1032 years of age, and I have been married for 1003 years.

Raylean Bowie...you make it all sound so simple. I have worked out my differences with my husband now but, even then, it was never that simple. Your advice may have worked for a mortal human with a harmless mortal husband, but not for me. I can't do whatever I want. My duties bind me. My responsibilities bind me and logically, I know and accept that.

To lie is against Faerie Law. Trick, manipulate, but never outright lie. But if that were not the case, I would not have the strength to say I would leave him. As an immortal, his love for me is all encompassing and eternal, to leave him would damage him so irreparably he would undoubtedly commit suicide if he believed I would wish to bestow my favours on another man. Although what I have done now is hardly any better...

Another custom of Faerie bonding and marriage is a ritual of scars. I do not believe I have told you this, because it is a very private, personal thing. The partners carve a symbol that represents them onto their lover's body, so declaring their love everlasting and beyond the flesh. You must not cry out, or give notice to any pain during this, because then it will be said that you weren't strong enough to endure pain on the behalf of the one you loved. Rare is it that faeries become truly Bonded mind, heart and flesh nowadays. All I can tell you about my experience of it is considering the daggers have been thrice enchanted to provide extra pain (masochistic, yes, but that's faeries for you) it hurts like goddamn hellfire. I couldn't leave him if I wanted to- not with his claim literally carved into my flesh and vice versa.

Jareth is a very jealous, possessive man. If he saw me flirting with another man, and meaning it, then that man would most likely be headed for a trip to the block rather than anything else. He would rather kill all competition and leave it at that. It makes sense to his mind- remove those who would sway my fancy, and it would never be swayed. He respects my wishes, and he honours my choices, but every instinct he possesses screams at him I must be protected and ruled.

There are many aspects to Jareth's character. Personally I believe that if you could be similar to all aspects of his nature than you would be cursed indeed. Do not forget, mortal, he is partly demonic, an ancient immortal, and a cocky arrogant idiot.

I cannot say I agree with your wanting to wish your little sisters away. Family is important. Family is the rock that protects you. Don't your sisters deserve to be loved and wanted as much as you do? Do you really want them gone? Visualize a world without them. Is it really a better place? I very much doubt it.

We may all think we hate our siblings. But somewhere, deep down, there is a love for them. Apart from if your brother is called Lucien and tries to steal your wife from you, of course. And we can only take children if the wisher truly believes in us, believes that we _will _be there, and that the babe _will _be gone, and has the strength to bend us to their will. Not to mention, that some days, Jareth randomly decides just to not take the call. I don't know why. He just does, sometimes.

An interesting thought, anno. None of us really know how much of Aphrodite's spell still lingers, but we believe most of it has dissipated by now. Of course it bothers me that he is so controlling, I am a free woman after all, and I don't appreciate being ordered around. However I have a vast tolerance for him now. I understand that a better part of his possessiveness and controlling attitude is simply his Fae nature and upbringing. He was brought up to know that to protect and guide your woman, to answer her every wish and fulfil her deepest dreams in exchange for her loyalty, her obedience and her love was as it should be. The man does everything he can to make her happy and the woman in return honours and obeys him- it is simply the way it is done.

mysticrox123...I am not alone. I have you to air my grievances at, do I not? And sometimes meaningless companionship is all one needs.

_Sarah Williams-Sylfaen, Champion of the Labyrinth_


	14. Entry 14

Greetings,

Yet again you simplify my problems to nothingness...Is it humanity's practicality, or the curse of living with the winding, twisting Labyrinth for too long? Have my asinine senses become so dulled as to make myself as unobservant and obtuse as an iron brick? Why is it that I am cursed with such unending _stupidity, _why is it that I am so unworthy of even walking upon this blessed land's fabled soils?

I am a true idiot. Of _course _the Labyrinth wouldn't be able to resist telling my king I still lived. Of course he would be drunk at the time. Of course he would run after the signal, of course he would get himself nearly killed again! This is getting ridiculous.

This is exactly why I refused to tell him of my aging. My beautiful king, wise and tricky beyond compare as he is, is just so typically...male...when he's grieving. He gets roaring drunk, and if he can, drugs himself until he's as high as a kite. After that he used to go Aboveground and accept whatever came his way- usually eager females, although once or twice he came back refreshed and happy from a good brawl. Of course, since he married me, he no longer does that...To the vast disappointment of the establishment he used to frequent, I expect.

He may know a cure. But if he knows it, than it would have to be in his library somewhere, or in his diary? I have been searching both whenever I can. I have to be here to watch over him, in case he tries to kill himself or something equally idiotic.

You do have a point, artseblis, but I also have a counterpoint. Yes, immortals, when they are truly Bonded, will love forever, but if the bond is broken, the bond is broken. And fay are as their name suggests, fey, mercurial creatures just as easily distracted by the next pretty face passing by. Their emotions are fierce, passionate, and far more intense than we will ever know, but despairingly short-lived. Jareth has enough mood-swings to out-hormone twelve human teenagers...

He will be mad with grief. I will watch over him to ensure his safety, for a world without the wisdom and power of the King is a world not to live in. He has been alive before the Earth. He knows the secrets and confessions of the stars themselves...I could go on.

HyborianQueen, you too are valid in your reasoning, but have you considered that it would tear him apart? He would not be able to touch me, for fear of crushing me into dust. He would have to watch as my body slowly edged towards death closer each day, until I finally succumbed. He would have to watch, helpless, as I limp and struggle to places where I once sprang up, youthful and free.

And is it fair to me? I don't want to have to see the pain in his eyes every day. He is immortal, forever youthful, vigorous, healthy and strong, and I am a wizened old crone. And what would happen when I died? The light fading from my eyes, him watching, knowing he couldn't comfort me in my slow death, ripping him apart. He doesn't understand the concept of death. The Underworld is free and new, nothing dies. Is it fair to him to give him this burden, this guilt?

No. Far better that he move on, learn to love again, while I can still watch over him. It will kill me, if he abandons me for another woman, but then I will be dead and gone and will trouble him no longer.

I can't risk him not knowing the cure. I can't confess, although I yearn for him like a flower does for sun. It gets worse every day. I wake, and I weep, shaking and whimpering and wishing I could be back, with him, my love, my life. And knowing I _can, _knowing I could tell him and he would tenderly gather me in his arms like he used to before I Turned, letting me snuggle into him before draping his arms across his waist, just in case he squished me, is far more gruelling. I have to remember his grief-stricken face, the way he writhed on the bed, his eyes turning red and his skin black, his nails elongating- so close to his demon self I recoiled from him.

I must deal with this. I am strong enough to bear this out. One day, he will learn to love again, and I will finally sleep my last sleep.

Kashelle, again, if only it were that easy. Do you not think that he could simply conjure up alcohol? To hide all the alcohol in the Goblin City is impossible, the goblins are all big drinkers. Instead, I have been spiking his water with something that reproduces the effects of alcohol without the same damage to the system. I stood over him and told him he was an idiot, which he didn't react well to, of course.

mysticrox, my children will always obey me. I don't know why but even Jareth is hesitant on disobeying a direct command from me. I know not what makes them fear my displeasure so, since the goblins look upon me as a saint, but whatever it is it is potent enough to ensure their obedience. Jareth made a wry joke once about it being my habit to rip a faerie's heart and soul to pieces and put them through the shredder that made me so feared. I of course asked him immediately _why _he thought this, and he grinned slyly, kissed me, and that was the end of that conversation.

It's so annoying when he does that. Did that? Oh Danu. I can't handle talking about us in past tense. I can't even take his name off mine.

Ariena-Rose Eveilbe, and Moia Starchild...I cannot tell him! He is not human. For a human, honesty is the best policy. For a Fey, trickery is the best policy. If he saw me like this it would destroy him inside and out. If I died, I would die young and fresh, rather than the wearying, dragging death known as age.

He does not age. He cannot understand it. Faeries die youthful. Faeries die without growing old, creaking, spending their last few years in torture and agony as their body rebels before giving in to peace. Trust me. It would absolutely kill him.

But I may have found a way. Hypnosis. He wouldn't know if I cowled myself, and he would agree to anything if I told him I could make him see me as I once was. When he's gone into a trance all I would need is to use his Name of All Names to unlock his mind and project a glamour into it. If I could do it then I could ask him, and he would tell me. Perhaps there is a ray of hope after all?

I pray that it shall not be futile.

_Sarah Williams-Sylfaen_


	15. Entry 15

Dear friends, I think I have done a foul deed, but he a deed far fouler.

Any entry starting off with those words sounds very ominous, does it not? But yet I fear I have done worse imaginable. You remember I said of using hypnosis to discover my lord's secrets? It didn't work.

So I used his Name instead. His Name, the Name which sums up everything and anything he will ever be. The true Name of his heart and soul. Not his spoken name, Jareth. It is deadly if this Name shall fall in the wrong hands, for those who will can control him utterly through it, and he would have no choice but to accede to their demands.

Every creature had a secret name. You, me, even the Labyrinth, even _magic itself, _but to know those two names would be to control the world. I already suspect that Jareth knows the Name of the Labyrinth, and is close to knowing the Name of magic.

True names are not just a word. _Kvistar, _a stick. It isn't a name for a stick, it _is _the stick, _the _name for a stick.

And with this Name, I commanded him first to lie still, as he was crying out in the throes of a nightmare. I crept to his side, perching on the very edge of the bed we had once shared. He was still, trembling only slightly.

"Who are you?" He whispered, and it was nothing like his normal voice. It was rough and grating, the voice of a man older than dirt itself.

I spoke his Name, and he shuddered in feeling his entire being summed up in a few words. I asked him for his knowledge on how to make old mortals young and immortal again, and gritting his teeth, he was forced to do as I asked.

He does know of a way. But it requires a blood sacrifice, the death of another to bring me back to immortal life. It was horrible. He was talking, telling me all these evil, terrible things, dark secrets and forbidden rites that should never have been spoken aloud.

At last, I used the power of his Name and cried for him to stop. I shall carry the look of his helplessness from this day forth unto my grave.

I have married a monster.

How much has he been hiding from me? Here is a man who would murder children, innocent, perfect children, for the satisfaction of seeing their blood run. Here is a man who would destroy races to laugh at their woes. Here is a man who _enjoys _to cause others pain.

At last I asked him, with a savagery I have never felt before, why he had ever bothered with taking a wife. And it was awful.

He told me that the Courts had specified he needed an heir else he would be taken off the throne. He told me that he had chosen me because I held a weakness in my heart for him and would be easy to win over. He told me that he had chosen a mortal because he could break me easily if he wanted, that it would be easy to arrange an 'accidental' death once the child had been born.

That I was an _experiment. _

How long have I been an experiment? Was everything a lie? Every stolen kiss, every whispered confession, every tender touch? Our children, that I have so lovingly and tenderly raised, a test?

How could he? How could I have been so self-deluded, so _stupid, _to have missed it all? All those years, pledged to his heart and honour, and yet, it was all fake? Was that all I ever was, a experiment, a creature to sate his needs and bear his children? Was I even that?

I wonder who he was thinking of every time I kissed him. For surely an oh-so-great _Fae Lord _wouldn't deign to find us lowly, incompetent, malleable _mortals _attractive. How many women have shared his bed throughout our years? All the courts must be laughing their heads off, the stupid mortal who thought she was a queen.

It is true! It is true. Fae cannot love. They feel no emotions and hunger only for trickery.

Everything he did, he did it all for a lie. Everything was an act. But I love him. How can he betray me like this?

How can I have fallen so hard so fast? I sacrificed my life for him. How can I just walk away? I can't. How can I go back, to that horrible, cold, dead world Above? When I have tasted the depths of raw magic, known the deepest of dangers? How can I ever be content with ordinary life?

Why would he do this to me? How can I have so completely misjudged him? How can I have not known he was such...such a _monster! _

How...What am I supposed to do now?

I care not for his dead feelings now. I want to hurt him. I don't care whether he screams and suicides from the image of my aged dying face. Maybe I can _experiment _to see just how resilient immortals are to pain.

I showed myself to him. And he screamed, and cried. His lips peeled back from his demon teeth and his eyes turned blood red, the bastard blood in his veins black, his nails darker than ink, and I laughed at his hurt. I told him that it was over. I told him that I never wanted to see his face again.

He pleaded and begged at my feet, but I threw him away. I threw him away, kicked him, and laughed cruelly in his face when the tears streamed down his cheeks. For I am just an _experiment, _and sometimes experiments go wrong.

I managed to make it three steps outside the door before bursting into tears.

I took to my animal form, a pure white dove, and I flew as fast as I could away, far away, to the crumbling remnants of Lucien's castle.

Jareth be damned. Who needs men?


	16. Entry 16

Help me...

I can't...

I won't...

I must...

I _need..._

I will not. No, no, no. You know I won't, don't you? Don't you, you do? I'm strong. You know I'm strong, don't you? I can. I won't go. I won't go.

But _I want to..._I WANT TO GO! Let me go! They won't let me go! They won't, they won't, they won't...

Oh mine...Oh my love, my sun-and-stars, my heart, my soul, the sun-of-my-sky, where are you!? Why can't I find you? The black. The dark. You know. It's all around me. Can't you see? You see it? The blackness. I'm in a hole. I fell through a hole, I'm through the Looking Glass. But everything's wrong. Where's my Mirror Mask?

Where's my joy? My passion? Oh, how I love you! My Jareth, my pain, where are you? Why won't you rescue me from this barren place?

Shall I call for you? My love, my love, why won't you answer me? I can feel you. I know you're there. You want me with you. But where am I? I am gone. I am nowhere. Don't look through my eyes, my dream. My bloody nightmare. I can't see. There is black all around.

But there is a clink! A clank, a chain. I am chained!

What devil has dared capture my wife? My Sarah! She is mine. Mine, mine, mine. I won't let anyone else have you. You are mine, mine to care for, mine to own, mine to hold and to fulfil, mine to protect. Mine to love. I'll sooner kill you than have you betray me, my love, don't make me do it. You know I will. I've done worse. Come back, come back. Come back to me, Sarah. Please, I love you, precious, I can't live within you..

No, I am not you. No, no, no. I AM SARAH! Get out of my head! I don't want you! Leave me alone! Why can't you accept I want to move on?

I love him. Oh, oh, I love him. I want him. Please, please, please, no! Nononononononono! Stop it! Stop it! I can't think. I can't concentrate. He's in my head and he won't stop it and

I love him, ilovehimilovehim, I must go back, i must go back, back , gsbaaack, back .

Back. Back back ack He wants me back. I must obey him, I am his to care for, his to own, his to hold, fulfil, his to protect, his to love, his to command, I must, I must, I must, I won't!

No, I MUST NOT LET HIM THROUGH! I am my own person! I know my rights, I know my fears, my hates, my opinions!

I will not be swayed by his blasted sorcery! A new low for even him. He cannot convince me to return, so he uses the bond we share to seduce me with his blackheart magic! I will kill you, you silver-tongued betrayer, may you rot in the Iron Lands forever!

_Vahaya screams for you...Can you leave her? Your own daughter? She needs you. You are the only one who can raise her, without you she will starve and die...You know this, how can you condemn your baby to death?_

Read it! The thoughts buzzing in my head. Courtesy of the blackhearted, lily-livered canker-rose I believed was a good man. Hah for that, _Goblin King._

He tells me I am their queen. He tells me that I love him. He tells me that my children need me. He tells me that he wants me. He tells me that he needs me. He tells me that the goblins need me. He tells me that they gather in the street and beg for my return. He tells me all of this, but he does not tell me it was a lie.

And how can I ever trust him again? Why was I such an idiot?

My family are Calling. I can hear their Voices. Jareth Calls for me. Even baby Vahaya.

I must go. I must, I must, I love them, you know that, I do, my love, my babies, my children...

No, no, no! They are attacking me again! You can see it, can't you! You can! I know you're there. How long have you been spying on me!? Why couldn't you leave me alone! Why did you have to come back!

I am sorry. Oh, my precious children, I am sorry, I am sorry...Jasmine! Why do you cry in my ear so? I will come back! You know I will. Oh, my sun, my Jareth, of course I would never go anywhere without you again, you know that, don't you?

Their Voices in my head! It is too much, I can't fight this! I can't, I won't, oh, my family is Calling, I can hear their magical Voices in my head as they cry...

Yes. Yes, yes, anything, for you, my love. My life. Yes. I will Call you now. I will let you know where I am. An oubliette, my love. I was outwitting you, my dear, I know, it is bad. It is bad, I won't do it again. I knew you would use our Bond to find me, look through my eyes. So I chained myself, with iron, so you couldn't spell me away.

No one knows which one I'm in. I will call you. I will say the words. Yes, anything for you. My Vahaya, I will be there soon.

Why am I still writing this pathetic diary? You are right, my love, mortals are so dull. They aren't worth the bother of talking to. You aren't worth the effort of typing.

I'm Calling you now, my heart.

Run away now mortals asf ar as you can i cannot stop him

I am sorry! I am sorry. I will not defy you. I will never defy him, you see? You try to sway me with your blasphemous lies. But I know the truth. Foul mortals, I will never speak of you again! Goodbye, with good riddance.

**AUTHOR NOTE- **_**SARAH IS NOT BEING OFFENSIVE UNDER HER OWN WILL. JARETH HAS ENCHANTED HER WITH THE HELP OF THEIR IS WHY SHE APPEARS TO BE IN CONTENTION AND STARK RAVING MAD TALKING ABOUT THE 'VOICES CALLING HER'.**_

**Don't worry, she'll recover her senses! I am not that evil, I promise!**


	17. Entry 17

***weeps* HyboarianQueen, you're so mean to meeee! *sighs* Ah, I can't deny it, I am that evil. Well, here we are...An interesting development awaits...**

_Déan mar a dhéanaimse mionn sin mé críochnóidh mé amárach ní díobháil sibh, caras de mo máthair. Agus má bris seo móid san am sin d'fhéadfadh sé teacht an spéir titim, agus __an ithir ith mé, agus an farraige cloígh an ithir._

I have sworn not to harm you, friends of my mother. I know not what my mother may have told you of our laws, but one of my kin cannot lie. I apologise, for my grasp of your language is shaky compared to those fluent in it, and I have only been studying it for a few centuries, but the matter I must bring to your attention is very pressing.

My father informs me that those of humankin are not worth bothering. I would agree, but for one reason, you do rear pretty, and rather easily swayed, women. My lack of knowledge about your world is rather shameful, and I know now that I have falsely judged you. Or perhaps I have not. We shall see, shall we not?

Know this, if you shall prove to betray me, my vow shall be broken, and I shall fly through the worlds, and destroy you, each of you, one by one. I shall kill your friends first, reach my hands down their frail mortal throats and rip out their hearts to feast on their blood. Then your families, if you have them, and when you are destroyed and broken with grief, I shall come to you, and I shall relish in your pain until you beg me for death, until you grovel at my feet. And then I shall leave, and I shall never return, leaving you broken and insane upon the blood-soaked floors.

You have been warned, mortals. Do not tempt the rage of one of the faykind.

I am named in common speaking terms Jareth, and I am His Majesty Lord Jareth Sylfaen of the Labyrinth's eldest son, and heir to the Goblin Throne. I believe you have been conversing with my mother, Her Majesty Lady Sarah Sylfaen.

It is of her I wish to speak.

There has been a disastrous series of events recently. It all began with slavers, hunting for liable prey along our borders. Rightly infuriated, my father set off with his best troops and put an end to it. Unfortunately, during the fighting, His Majesty was injured by a stray blade, which by chance was coated with lethal poison.

On normal terms, I would have flown out and ripped the bandits limb from limb in my quest for his salvation, but I was needed to share my energy and life force to keep him alive.

He was rushed back to the castle, and the best healers attended him, but none could figure how to cure his ailment. And then, my mother supposedly sacrificed herself.

All I know is that she apparently died, and her sacrifice provided the cure for my father. She went back through Time, a foolish quest, and stole the remedy from a sleeping bandit.

It was pure stupidity, every faeling learns _never _to mess with Time, and few even have the power to comprehend how it could be done. On one hand I am in awe of my plain, simple human mother to have been able to harness the inescapable and awesome powers of Time itself, on the other, I curse her for her recklessness.

Nonetheless, my father survived and began to heal. Broken over my mother's death, he tried his best to destroy himself. However an ancient, crippled crone began to care for his wounds and prevent him with the strongest of wills I have seen to kill himself.

I later found out this was my mother herself, ancient, wearied, time-ravaged. It was...disgusting. Horrible. I cannot get the sight of her dragging, dying face out of my mind. It sounds pitiful, that I wake screaming in the night, tormented by her rasping voice, her faded, sightless eyes, her wizened, wrinkled skin, her crumbling tombstone teeth. But I am.

I have none left to turn to. Be not my undoing, feckless mortals.

But she ran, screaming from the castle, and locked herself away. A more terrifying change I have never observed in my father. So truely now I can see the demon in his soul, and the bloodlust in his nature that he would always restrain for her sake.  
His nails blackened and lengthened, and the blood in his veins turned pitch. His eyes were black as the abyss and his frame buckled and lengthened. Dense golden fur covered his lithe, strong body, and a whiplash tail topped with a lethal spike whipped out of his back. Talons sprouted from his hands and feet, and fully-grown fangs jutted from his jaws.

Fire streaming from his gaping maw filled with dagger sharp, rending teeth, he rampaged through our defenceless city, murdering and killing, howling in pleasure at the sounds of flesh ripped from bone, and the screams of children torn from mothers and killed before their eyes.

Blood ran through the gutters. Howls and screams echoed like nails down the blackboard. Fire gouted and blossomed like an incredible bouquet of lethal orange-yellow-red roses.

For three days and three nights he destroyed like this, until he was left, panting and whimpering, in the rubble of the city. I had mustered together his subjects and fled with them in the depths of the mystical, ancient Labyrinth, in hope of whatever dangers that lies within the dark passageways may prove more friendly than the beast of my father.

Once he was done, he summoned us, and together, we rebuilt the city with our magic and compensated for the damage. And then he sat us down, and he began to tell us, in that quiet, insistent voice of his, warm and honeyed, full of snake's lies you don't see until the end, when it's too late, what he planned for us to do.

You would not think so bad of him if you could hear him describe it. His mesmerizing voice pleads with you, snaking into every weakness in your mental armour, undermining your strengths, pushing at your weaknesses.

Even I, the eldest, was completely and truly enchanted, and he had not used a single spell. My father is incredibly skilled in the art of manipulation, both with arcane help and not. If you possess no magic and come up against him, then you shall undoubtedly fail. If you possess magic and come against him, then you shall still undoubtedly fail.

Only one person could ever defeat my father, and that was because, in his infinite wisdom, he knew that he would need a _baethis'ríon_, and that my mother was the only one capable of him. There is no translation for it in your tongue...As close as I can get, it means, _queen-of-the-earth._ He chose her, and allowed her petty triumph, in order to snare her later on.

But his _banríon_, his queen, had left him, he was understandably upset. The dearest possession of his heart had decided to go, to forge a life anew, without him. Divorce does not exist in our world. Marriage does not exist. What does exist is soul-mates, and my mother and father are soul-joined until the day they die. There is no 'leaving', when your hearts beat to the same pace. He owns her. He possesses her. It his will that decides whether she lives or dies. Over her, he has the ultimate power.

So we would Call her. We would reach out with all of our magical essence and power to Speak with her, and we would implore her to return. She would see sense, and do as we asked.

But I did not foresee what would happen next.

We Called her, and she responded. With that response, my father found her, and took her away from her prison in the Labyrinth. She did not fight him at all, which I at the time did not find odd by I now consider so, but rested in his arms meekly.

He returned her to their chambers, and sent the rest of my brothers and sisters out apart from myself. Then he called me to help him, and with our magic, we gently restored her body, working through the night, to as it had been before, youthful, beautiful, healthy.

She woke, and did not seem to see me. She whispered my father's name, and told him devoutly in an almost worshipful tone that she loved him, that she was sorry. And for the barest moment my father's face pinched, but he relaxed, and kissed her tenderly, ever so gently.

And then, he directed her attention to me, with a soft whisper of, "Your son."

She smiled, and invited me into her arms for a embrace. I did so, and asked her if she was well. She replied with a loving yes, but turned away from me with a sigh. Understanding, my father gathered her into his arms as if she were as delicate as a leaf skeleton, and she fell asleep looking into his eyes.

That did nothing to arouse my suspicion. My mother and father always have ridiculously romantic moments after an enormous row, and usually they lock themselves in their rooms and we don't see them for a week or two. Juhaka and I once snuck a scrying crystal in their chambers.

It was not something I want to see ever again. I felt just too ineffectual and pitifully, well, inexperienced, afterwards. All I can say is, it's no wonder I have so many siblings.

No, what first tipped me off as something strange was the night after, at dinner. We were sat to eat, and suddenly Vahaya began to cry. But instead of doing something, my mother simply stared at her, until my father nudged her and told her quietly that Vahaya was crying. Though she could clearly see her daughter crying, she didn't act until that whisper from my father.

I may have forgotten the incident or passed it off as one of my mother's many odd moments if not for a few days later.

Juhaka and I were sat on a bench in the gardens, peering through a scrying crystal at Juhaka's most recent girl. She is a beautiful thing, I might add, waves of deep, burnished copper hair, and gentle, soulful eyes. Her skin is pale and there are no freckles across her cheeks, and she has a pleasant singing voice that is actually quite talented. It is a shame she is not so talented in the brain department.

My mother walked past, and inquired as to what we were doing. Now, instead of going absolutely insane and bringing our father down to punish us for spying on defenceless mortals like she usually does when she catches us, she simply patted Juhaka's head and remarked fondly, "Just like your father."

When was my mother ever _glad _or _happy _about my father spying on her through his crystals? At that moment, we both guessed something was wrong.

I planted crystals in my parents' rooms- excluding, of course, the dressing and bathing rooms, and we examined my mother's behaviour.

I am not so sure that it is my mother anymore. She looks like her and speaks like her, but does not act like her. She simply...accedes to whatever someone wants. Her eyes are as black as round marbles and she says things to my father I have never heard her speak of before. She calls my father her master, and kneels at his feet. And he will stroke her hair, tilt her face up to his, kiss her, and whisper, "Rise, my queen." And she does, unspeaking, and will lie on their bed, her dark eyes glittering, like a beautiful dark haired wolf tamed by some great power.

But it seems that the ultimate authority always resides with my father. Suddenly, she has become a role-model obedient queen.

My father has enchanted her. But why? Surely he cannot be so twisted as to want that? My beautiful carefree mother, wild as the dragons and fickle as a summer breeze, brought into eternal slavery? Screaming, deceiving, and bleeding, and no one will be able to hear her ever again? How can she wake up, save herself? Defeated, forever, vanquished, broken, she's gone.

Controlled, falling, stirring, the truth and the lie. Are there any thoughts within her head? Does life beat in her breast? Is she a dog to my father's desires? Why is she still falling?

So that is why I contact you, friends of my mother. You must have some information, some insight into this? What enchantment has my father layered upon my mother, and how can I convince her to break it?

Atra esterni ono thelduin,

_Prince Jareth the Younger Sylfaen of the Goblins, Heir to the Goblin Throne and the Labyrinth, Son of His Majesty Lord Jareth Sylfaen of the Goblins._


	18. Entry 18

**I would just like to say, I DO NOT have maggots cavorting in my twisted blackened heart, like Hyboarian would have you believe! I am a perfectly normal, sane (evil) human being! And my heart isn't twisted...much. *grins***

Dia dhuit, mo máthair caras.

First I must express my relief at your quick replies. For I worry that my mother's condition has grown ever more serious, she now does not speak at all, unless my father bids her so. She is hollow, and her eyes are like glittering onyx. I wondered if she had been force-fed on some type of drug, but I could find no traces of it in her blood.

Elphaba Rose Wilde, are you honestly called as such? Or is it, ah, how do you say, a pseudonym? To hide your identity from those who would wish to use the information against you? If my father should ever discover that I was conversing with mortals as my true self, and asking you for help, he would have me whipped, and would take over my learning with all the absolute power he possesses, and I should never be able to once more journey to the mortal world until I reach my duine fásta searmanas, my adulthood ceremony, if you will. At that age, I am old enough to inherit the throne. As for you...well, it would be most unpleasant.

Differing from my aos-fir searmanas, my coming into manhood. That is done when a fae's body is sexually mature, sometimes as young as the equivalent of thirteen in your years. After their aos-fir, or kona-fir if one is female, they are eligible to take a wife, mother children, respectively.

I, personally, am unmarried. Why should I tie myself down when there are still so many beautiful women I have not yet overcome? HyboarianQueen... I shall come to you if you so wish it, O sárálainn aon...Wish it, and I will give you your dreams...

But I am on business, here. Perhaps later, sárálainn.

I do not believe that my mother's malady is the cause of a broken heart. When she gets upset, she gets only more furious. When she left, she had a broken heart, and ran sobbing from the castle, screaming curses upon my father's name. But when we called her back, it appears as if she has no heart at all. As if she is a malleable, helpless mannequin, a puppet to my father.

He is controlling her using some arcane art. I snuck into her room...I have found a way to enter her mind. She was dreaming, an odd, recurring dream. That was all there was, this dumb obedience to my father, and blankness. But when I pushed deeper, I found the complex melody of my father's magic, wrapped around the flickering, dull, hurt subconscious of my human mother.

I observed this dream, perhaps thinking that you could give me some insight as to what it means, and how I might break it.

It begins.

I was in a ballroom. My first impression was of white, white everywhere. A white, polished gleaming marble floor, with thick, tall pillars of white marble inlaid with moonstones and gold. The airy ceiling was white, and dotted with tiny crystals, that glowed, lighting up the room and making the white surfaces sparkle and gleam. Everything was edged by gold, the crafted chairs, the tables tucked into a corner of the room. The walls appeared almost rounded, and had a shiny, reflective quality not unlike crystal. I could smell the faint, lingering smell of peaches and spicy musk. There was the taste of magic in the air, not unlike a heavy feel of ozone on my tongue, and the colours seemed bright, almost feverishly bright.

Feverish, yes. Everything was bright, fleeting, wavering, distorted, as if seen through the crazed lens of a fever. There were dancers, the ballroom was full of them, rich lords and ladies dressed in sumptuous costumes. It was a masquerade, yet they all wore horrific goblin masks, and carried cruel tricks which they played on one another, laughing and cackling with evil layered in every word.

It was nightmarish, the ghastly, grinning guests, the intense, too-vivid white and gold, the dizzying, nauseating stench of peaches. There was sound too. The guests never made any noise, laughing silently, their teeth gleaming whitely behind their masks.

A thrilling, gripping melody that seemed to embrace me as intimately and gently as any lover played in my ears, and it felt as if it were in all my senses, vibrating in my lips, tingling against my flesh, running static shockwaves through my hair. I kept my guard, I could feel the haunting, seductive melody pulling at me, through my skin and flesh, almost as if they were wrapping wheedling tendrils around my bones and pulling at me, enchanting whispers of dark delights and heady promises.

In the center of the room were my mother, and my father. Both went unmasked, and there was something about them, an air, like the melody, only so deep and strong it compared a breeze to a gale. They weren't dancing, but simply spinning, my father's teeth bared in a grinning grimace, his almost-black eyes sparkling, and my mother in his arms, looking up at him with a precious, innocent look in her eyes. Her mouth was slightly parted as if in wonder and confusion, and she looked young, far younger than I had ever seen her before, on the cusp of adulthood, with a gentle, rounded face and a shining youth and purity I have rarely seen.

She seemed oblivious to my father's darkness, creeping over his face, the black hunger in his eyes, the twisted laughter and mockery that rang out around her. She even seemed oblivious to the crowds, pressing in on her, laughing, laughing, always laughing.

She wore a beautiful pearl white ballgown with a wide, puffy skirt and huge sleeves. The bodice was inlaid with silver and her hair had been curled and silver shells woven into her dark hair. Finely made silver earrings dangled from her ears. My father wore a deep blue, sparkling coat, with a white cravat knotted at his throat. His long white-gold hair was left loose, and streaked with violet.

I can't recall how long they spent there, spinning. My father was singing, a song so deeply layered with the _mesmer _it lured me almost to a deep sleep. I barely gained control of myself in time- it would be disastrous if I were lost within the labyrinth of my mother's mind.

Eventually, couples began to whirl off to the curtained lover's alcoves, in the corners of the room, hidden in shady corners. My father had finished his song, and they had been standing, quietly together, for a little while. And then he took her hand, and moved towards an unoccupied alcove.

She hesitated, and I could see a virgin's anxiety in her face, the fear of a young girl playing a woman's game. For a brief second I could see a flash of my mother in her face, a hardness and determination, and she shuddered. For a second, the entire image of the ballroom wavered. The dancers clustered close against her.

My father called to her, and I saw the fight suddenly drain out of her. She looked prettily confused, and she stepped forward to his side. He moved again, and she followed him almost meekly to the alcove.

I had disguised myself to fit in with the crowd. If I did not, then they would have suspected something wrong, and would have destroyed me. I was dressed in a long sable coat and black leggings, with a horrific goblin mask obscuring my features. This coat brushed against the wall, as I skirted along, to keep up with my mother and father.

I cast a scrying crystal. Inside, I could see the darkened alcove, with only a soft lamp to light it, with gentle deep yellow light casting shadows on the rich plum cushions artfully arrayed. They were standing, locked in a passionate embrace, their lips together and completely oblivious to the outside world.

They kissed for a while, pausing for breath every so often. Finally, they broke, and my father very carefully, almost tenderly, pulled her down onto the cushions. She shivered, and went stiff in his arms, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes, like a deer. She whispered something, but there was no sound but the melody. I thought it may have been "_please." _He buried his hand in her hair, ungloved, I noticed, the other around her waist, holding her still. He lowered his lips to hers, and after a few moments, the stiffness melded out of her, and she kissed him back.

The scene seemed to waver, distort, as if seen through a thick pane of glass. And then it shifted, to a twisting, winding room I didn't know. It was insane, defying the laws you humans seem to find so complete. Stairways and pathways turned upside-down, sideways, any way you could imagine, with doorways halfway up walls and underneath stairs, but all I could see through them was more crazy stairs. The entire room was made of sandstone, and seemed to go on forever, infinite in its expanse. My father was there, running desperately and headlong down the stairs, striving to reach a deep rose red crystal that lay just a little while ahead of him, never stopping moving, and pulsed, like a crystal heart.

He wore clothes I had seen him in only on the paintings of his and my mother's wedding day. A deep maroon coat, edged with black, barefoot, with no shirt, displaying his scars, as is the custom, and tight black leggings. As the ceremony processed he would have removed the coat.

My mother was there, dressed in a beautiful snowy white backless gown reminiscent of a wedding dress, her hair coiled up on top of her head, her chin raised haughtily, and the aura of ice all around her. She carried a black riding whip in one petite, gloved hand, and her eyes were black and disdainful.

He ran, after the glowing crystal heart, and she was singing something, with a single, solitary tear curving down her cheek, her look of haughtier never wavering. I could hear nothing but that melody, tugging a bone-deep ache within me, begging me to fulfil the craving.

It felt like aeons passed as my father rushed to get to the crystal, and my mother sang. And then I heard a swift pure cry, and it was over.

There was a brief halt, wherein everything stopped, and then it shattered. My father was sent tumbling, tumbling down, to rest on a sandstone platform, a swirling red-black abyss all around the platform, floating chunks of destroyed sandstone masonry suspended mid-air.

And my mother stepped from the shadows.

She was dressed in a enchanting swan-feather cape, with a tailored blouse and tight white leggings. Her hair fell soft and loose about her shoulders, and there was makeup about her eyes that reminded me of owl's wings. She held a long, thin blade in her hand.

I knew that blade. Ice. My father's sword. I have never seen it with my own eyes, but there are so many legends and fearful rumours about it that I could have never mistaken it. Legend has it only my father can wield it. People say that it is made from the same material as Death's scythe. Others say that Ice is the scythe, and my father death itself.

It would take enormous power to take it. To use it. This is not an ordinary sword. This can cut through the air, through sound-waves, through anything and everything. That sword can cut through magic, it can cut through universes.

All my life I have believed humans inferior to me. Oh, but not unkindly, for my own mother is human, and she brought me up to believe that humans and those of the Fae are equal. If not in strength, then in mind. But I have always looked upon humans as...how to say it in a way you would understand? Imagine that you were in a lesson, in one of your schools. And everyone is in partners, apart from you, and the horrible smelly person that no one really likes. That you don't particularly hate, or dislike, but have no particular wish to be associated with. That is how I would view you...

How foolish I now know myself to be. For humans are just as powerful, if not more so. If my mother can wield Ice, then it means she has as much power as my father. And my father is...stronger than anything. He is older than the soil we walk on. He is older than the sun, the stars, the sky, he is more powerful than the song of nature and the pull of the wild. No one knows truly what he is, only that he is it. My mother believes that he has demon blood in him, but I think his lineage stretches further back than that. Who knows?

And Ice is his weapon. It is not its real name, no one knows that, such as none know my father's first name. But for the taletellers' sake, it is named Ice.

My mother, my simple, plain, human mother, can use it...Frightening to think of, terrifying to behold. The destruction she could wreak with it!

She stood there, Ice in her hand, and an unfathomable expression on her delicate face. Lord Jareth stared at her, and then took a trembling step forward. He looked almost fearful, the way he faced her.

"Give me your heart," he demanded. "I have gone through dangers untold and faced hardships unnumbered..."

They talked, him uncharacteristically whiny and demanding, almost childish and petulant, and she desperate, begging, something deeper in her immortal eyes. Something was desperately wrong, I could feel it, deep in my bones. A resounding _wrongness._

"My kingdom is as great," My father hissed defiantly at her.

"Stop, wait!" She cried, in agony, "Look what I'm offering you...Your dreams...Just let me rule you...Love me, fear me, do as I say and I will be your _slave..._"

Something whirred, shifted, and clicked in the dream then. Even in my remote detachment I could sense it, and for a brief moment I swear I saw two entwined figures, dancing, one blue, one white. My father's face suddenly softened, his skin creasing with infinitely complex and tiny lines of a cartoon in his bone-white skin. My mother looked up, and with a tear sliding down her cheek, she whispered in a soft and heartbroken voice as I had ever heard her use...

"_You have all power over me."_

What does this mean? I could sense that something was wrong all throughout the dream. But what was it? It felt as if there were two different threads, on indisputably magic, one natural. Something is altering her. Is it my father's work? What light can you shed on the situation?

And I'll be back for you, sárálainn aon, HyboarianQueen.

_Prince Jareth the Younger of the Goblins_


	19. Entry 19

...I weep...

I know not why my mother, the famed Lady Champion, with her exotic beauty and fiery wit was chosen for such a fate as this. She is to die.

Dead. Gone. Forever.

And forever is so very long. I am young, barely more than a child. I cannot compare to the might of my father. I cannot hope to slay him before he should...should destroy her.

Do you remember peaches? His Majesty Lord Jareth's favourite fruit. A fruit of great meaning to both him and my mother. Would you guess they had peaches on their 'wedding day'?

Both my parents are masters of poisons and potions. There is a special, very rare type of drug that is resident naturally within a small green worm type creature. They burrow into fleshy, rotting fruits, such as peaches, and quickly poison it. This is a special hybrid type of poison, magic and not, which considering my mother's mixed blood, dissolves quickly into her bloodstream. Undetectable, it would have made her woozy and dizzy, and her mind would be unable to concentrate, and she would slip into heady drugged dreams.

My father must have force-fed her one, and then utilised her weakness to seize control of her mind. Oh, Danu, how could he do this to her? Danu! Save her! Why she?

Using his magic, he wove insidious tendrils into the open well of her unprotected mind, securing his hold. Nothing can shake him free. If I tried, he would kill me as easily as he would a fly, and even if, somehow, amazingly, I succeeded, she would be severely brain-damaged. And with this magic he is...suffocating her.

Killing her memories, stripping through her life as if it were some book open for him. But no mind should ever be open. Dreams, yes. Nightmares, yes. But direct tampering, never. Such a thing is against every stricture of our laws.

Private, gentle thoughts, hopes, wishes, dreams, ambitions, secrets of herself and being that none else should ever know, quirks, traits, beliefs, theories, ideas, passions, hates, a lifetime worth of memories. And he rips through her, rough and harsh as sandpaper over an open wound, or a dull sea shell hacking away at one's limb.

I could feel her, briefly, shying away from him, brutalised and hurt, the tiny, throbbing center of my mother's subconscious, dull and flickering with pain and betrayal.

He is forcing her in the worst of ways. He is destroying every sanctuary, even the deepest, darkest pits of her boundless heart are irrevocably tainted by his evil. Like barbed wire through a wound, he tornadoes through her, digging the splinter of his interference deeper, ever deeper.

Dead memories in her heart, dead visions in his name, dead fingers in her veins...

But a worse sin he could hardly commit. He leaves behind him a false life, a false memory. Growing up with cruel, wicked parents, and a cliché evil stepbrother to fit in with his twisted story. A princess among her kind, saved by the enchanting Goblin King, and their deep and undying love, forever and as fresh as the day they first looked into one another's eyes.

He would have her tame and obedient, her fiery spirit doused, her loyalty all for his own, her words and shouting quieted. He would make a lapdog of her, a slave to do as he saw fit.

There is nothing I can do. I am just not strong enough.

And so I must wait. Watching those I love die. I have no choice. She will yield to him, as she always does, because he is her lord, her sun to guide her life, the moon in her heart. As she always would yield to him, so she will now. I cannot convince her to go against a lifetime of devotion. She will not resist him. She loves him too much.

Even when he betrayed her, she loved him. Even when he left her, she loved him. Even when he destroys everything she is, she loves him.

Mortals...anything...anything you know of...help me. I cannot just sit here, watch her be sucked away, dead memories haunting her heart!

Please...I have never begged to anyone...but I do now. Help me save her. Mortals, help me save her.

**Note- sárálainn aon means 'beautiful one' or 'gorgeous one' in Irish Gaelic. **


	20. Entry 20

Mortals.

I bring you news of my intense stupidity. How could I have not known from the beginning? Alas, I am obviously not as well-versed in the art of spying that I thought I was.

The dead memories my father has given my mother would simply drain away without his magic to sustain them. And using that amount of magic all day everyday must be exhausting him. So this measure is obviously short term.

My mother announced her thirteenth pregnancy yesterday. Yet my father would never allow her to get pregnant in her weak mortal state, especially when I killed her last time and my father had to journey to Death and plead for her soul back. He gave Death in return the amount of years my mother had lived from his own lifespan. Being immortal, that lifespan was never-ending, and my mother's years were few anyway.

To turn her back into an immortal, he requires a sacrifice. And this sacrifice must be immortal, because the person who the rite is preformed upon will get the remaining years of the sacrifice's life added to their own. So he would take his own flesh and blood child and sacrifice it so that his queen may live.

Providing the child, and she, survives the birth, which is risky anyway.

So he would have her immortally youthful again. But the false memories will drain away as soon as he stops fuelling it with magic, and she would revert back to how she used to be. Although probably much more pissed off with my father, I should imagine, and irrevocably tainted by his rapacious actions.

He would have some method of controlling her, after her Turn back to immortality. But what?

Her Name. Her _Name. _Through which he could control everything and anything about her, and use of which is completely tax-free.

But if this is how he would do it, then there is a way I could stop him. During the Turn, my father would need all his strength to make sure she Turns and lives through it successfully. So he would stop fuelling the dead memories- and my mother would begin to revert.

If I could destroy my father whilst he is Turning her, he would have no barriers up against treachery, having probably ordered us to stop anyone who tried to approach him or his queen. Thus it would be simple- drive a dagger through his back, and he would be dead.

Whilst that was happening, I would have to seize control of the Turning spell at the same time and continue it, otherwise my mother would be only half-Turned, and would die. But I have not the strength to perform a Turning spell. I am not the equal to my father. I know not the intricacies of blood magic. I don't know how to keep my mother from death.

So I would ask you for your help once more. Think of us, the children of the Goblin King and Queen, and believe in us. It may sound silly and unhelpful, but your belief will bolster our strength.

_Jareth_


	21. Entry 21

How tiring it is, to be embroiled in playing my athair's little game. And a game it is, while steadily my mother grows yet another child- a child, that, as I did, will undoubtedly bind her forever to the man who caused them. It is getting almost to the stage of ridicule.

My athair doesn't care about whether the child is malformed, or twisted. He doesn't care if it is lack-witted or a weakblood. He just wants it to be alive, so he can kill it and give its years to his poor slave. It's filthy, a violation of everything we have all thought to be good and true. Once, I could have said faeries could have never have conceived the idea of rape. But what he has done to her is far worse.

_He has taken away her free will. _I repeat it, and even as I stare at the screen and tap the keys I fail to truly comprehend why someone who be so twisted as to do such a thing. My kin, my cinéaltia, are supposed to represent the very epitome of free will. We are fickle and free, we follow our desires and are unfettered by responsibility and worldly cares the weary humans seek to bestow upon themselves.

But my mother is Faekyn. She is human.  
And because of that, whatever courts we may have to govern our lives choose to ignore what is happening. Though my mother saved all of their lives when she reaffirmed the bridges between her world and ours with the blood of her veins. Though she has proved herself countless times to be worthy of being faekyn more than most fae I have met.

But what annoys me even more is that even those who would have once exploited her for her strong blood and yet weak human disposition now exploit her for the very flaws that they once praised. Compassion! They spit. Loyalty! Love! Honour!

It is frankly stupidity.

Our healer has tied himself into a knot with worry over the babe's health. My father has used growth spells on it, the child is almost ready to be born, and yet it is only four months. That, of course, is undoubtedly going to make it flawed and misshapen, but as I said, my father doesn't care. And everyone knows children are the greatest blessings of the Mother.

We are preparing to journey to Raftsted Peak. Upon the highest point there is a shrine, in which Jareth has decided to take my mother and Turn her once more there.

As for her state, it has improved somewhat. When I say it has improved, I mean that his control over her is weakening. Sometimes she has random flashes of memory from her previous life. Only this morning I found her lost in the labyrinth, lying on the floor with a look upon her face seldom found outside infancy and screaming for her mother, though the woman is most likely long dead. I had to pick her up and transport her and myself back to the palace. The poor creature had no idea who I was, but she seemed to trust me. If I had one, it would have broken my heart. As it is, I felt only a brief moment of discomfort.

Sadly, it is indeed scientifically proven that those of the Blood (my father's line) have no beating heart. I was rather surprised- but it would account for the mentions of my cold skin. Other than imparting that gem of wisdom, I have none else to tell.

Perhaps there will be brighter news when I contact you again.


	22. Entry 22

Tá me arracht ollphéist.

I am a monster.

I am as much and as terrible as my father. How dare I sit here, and criticise, when I am the same? I feel so dirty. So wrong. People think my race are sinful. But we never were- they never were! I do not deserve to call myself faekyn after this betrayal of everything.

How could I do such a thing to her?

How could I do it? Why? Let me tell you. Petty anger, shallow lust. That was why I did it.

You don't even know, do you? Your eyes skim my text and you wonder, as a suspicion begins to grow in your mind of my dreadful transgression. Damnaigh mise do ifreann.

Then let me tell you. How the _hero _of the piece turned to a villain faster than I could blink. There is no good, no evil. There is only misguided senses of morality. Blindness. That was what I was. Blind. I could not see the truth that lay clearly before me.

_Tá me arracht ollphéist. Tá múid gach arracht ollphéists. _We are all monsters.

But I am damned once, twice, thrice to hell before my soul had even passed from Ethereus to this world.

There was a ball. My father was throwing it in honour of my mother's bastard pregnancy. All sorts of faeries turned up, all eager to put truth to gossip.

I found myself in company of several beautiful women. That was not what alarmed me, it was fairly frequent. But then I started to hunger. It was not ordinary hungers, as for pleasure of the flesh, it was something else. I could hear their hearts beating, and when they touched me their warm skin felt like fire. I wanted their blood.

I had no idea what this meant. So like a coward I pushed it away, and tried to enjoy myself. Eventually I retired for the night with one of the women, thinking of previous experiences when a woman's arms have healed all.

But not this time. I hurt her. I attacked her, and when I saw her blood it made me snarl. A more terrifying change I had ever witnessed in myself. I felt the most curious of pains, and I felt my body growing, changing, and my throat felt raspy and dry as sandpaper. When I coughed a spark of flame guttered out of my mouth, past my razor-sharp teeth and flickering, forked tongue. My nails grew and hardened, and turned to claws. My body grew larger and fur the colour of my own hair erupted in a glossy mane down my back. My ears had grown longer and more acute, as had my eyes sharper and my nose keener. A tail, too, with a venomous spike.

I had turned into a monster. I attacked her, and I killed her, I needed to satisfy my hunger. I ran then, back to the ball, in search of more food. I smelt something so delicious, so appetising, it made me howl. I tracked the scent, and came across the limp, fearful form of my own mother. I remember it clearly, though the memories are all feverish and uncertain. She was backing away from me, her eyes wide with fear and her skin paling as all that gorgeous thrumming blood was pulled away from her face. I growled, and stepped forward, unaware of everything behind me, of the screaming faekyn running, away from me, of my sister's screaming. I could hear the heart of the baby she carried inside of her. I wanted that too.

But before I could do anything, a fully sized, much larger, stronger demon crashed into me. My own father, come to protect his beloved possession in his true, terrible glory. We fought then, for the possessions of the territory. Alpha, if you will. He won, of course, and pinned me underneath him until the bloodhunger subsided enough for me to warp back to my own form.

I am a monster. A demon. He let me loose on the streets of Aboveground, and I killed. He taught me how to capture and tease the mortals I took, the mortals, the humans, before I ended them. He taught me how to draw out their suffering over months, years.

Tá me arracht ollphéist. Tá me arracht ollphéist. Tá me arracht ollphéist.

I am a demon. I am my father's heir. He was proud of me, you know. He knew this would happen to me. Eventually, he told me, it would happen to the strongest of his blood. Jenna, with her fiery lusts and tempestuous attitude, certainly, Juhaka, possibly, Jasmine, possibly. So many of us. He has doomed us all. He is Formorian. Demon.

And I am too. Tá me arracht ollphéist.

_I am a monster. _

He doomed us all the moment he first touched my mother. Maybe if I had not had his demonblood run through my veins, then I would not be here plotting the death of my own family. But I _want _to kill him.

They are mine. They are all mine. There can only ever be one goblin king.


	23. Entry 23

An áthas cara duínn na fir tá an mairg cara duínn na mná.

_The joy of the men is the sorrow of the women._

How apt for this next segment in the power play, the ultimate prize, possession of the human. Possession of the power. For if we had her, we had everything. I am no longer blinkered by blind justice and petty moralities. There is not good, there is not evil. There are only people, who crave the blood as I do, who think those terrible betraying thoughts, who lie and sin and do all else, and _don't. _Then there are those who do.

If we have the human, the mortal woman, we own the Labyrinth, for it obeys her as she would obey her master. And if we have the Labyrinth we have the kingdom, and with the kingdom power, leadership over the family...and unlimited access to Aboveground.

Scrios mise. Unlimited access to food.

It grows ever worse, the hunger. Now I have tasted the flesh of a human and experienced the thrill of the hunt, I think only of that. At night I toss and turn and dream of a human. A female human, is the always the nicest. I prefer them to the males, the flesh meatier, fattier in parts. And a teenage one- just growing- is a taste beyond compare.

I know my father likes young men. He likes them because to him they signify the onrushing chances of possibility. They are just on the brink of their lives, they have so much that they could be. So much future. So much possibility. And he, the hunter in the dark, takes that away. Steals away the possibilities and chances before they've even had the chance to blossom. But he agrees with me, hunting a young woman is the taste of heaven.

Just like my mother.

I know the whole story now. How my father was out hunting one night and caught her scent in the park. Maddened, he had tracked to her home. But he had been repelled, by unusually strong protective charms. Sarah's mother, I would learn. Infuriated by his denial, he stalked her, quickly becoming obsessed with her. So he began to entice the mother instead. With promises under the stars, and a steady diet of dream-peaches, he led her out. Until one night...where he killed her. But still he could not reach the girl. The mother had instructed her daughter how to lay out her own charms against evil. And little Sarah believed her with all the fire in her boundless heart.

So he was forced to watch as she grew, from a little girl to a young woman. He tried everything, enticing dreams, persuasive musics, all of the deadly temptations we faekyn have in our arsenal. But the charms were just too strong. But then she called on him. Imagine his surprise when she asked him to take away her own brother. He saw this as an opportunity, and decided to lure her into accepting him as her overlord and thus breaking the protections upon her. But blindly, she ignored him, his manipulative powers turned aside by the cocoon of enchantments.

There was nothing he could do. So he sent her home.

Upon her sixteenth birthday he came for her again, determined this time, not to kill her, but to attempt to create a new breed in the dying faekyn. One with the fertility of a human and the strength of a faerie. Halflings. But what began as an experiment turned vastly wide.

She was only sixteen, but she knew very well just what he was offering when he pleaded for her to return. She refused him, and sent him away. Each night of our sacred festivals he would vanish, and appear to her, and plead. Finally, when she was little more than ten-and-eight, she slipped, for just a moment. She never had a chance.

She was under his spell before the second had passed. She carried me, but when she birthed me, my faekyn nature overwhelmed me and I ended up coming out a little more...violently than intended. Fae children normally use their teeth to bite out of the fragile stomach, thus killing their mother, which provides them with a meal of their mother's flesh, still bright with their motherly magic. Suffice to say, the porcelain human was ripped apart.

My mother's sojourn in an Tríú Domhan freed her of her oaths. Neither of the two expected to love one another. But they did. My father had uncovered a surprising drive to protect the frail thing he once sought to destroy, and my mother had welcomed my father into her life and heart with the tenderness of daonnine, human-kind.

And that, was that.

Bruscar. Nonetheless, that is what the history books say.

But I have digressed. I did not contact you again, my faithful correspondents, to lament the stupidity of my athair. Beannaigh sibh, beannaigh sibh i an ainm de cibé leabhar diá tá triúr díobh ann d'fhéadfadh sé teacht cad é atá tú a dhéanamh.

We have begun our journey up to the fateful peak. My mother's return of her memories has been slow, but steady. At the moment, I guess she is around six to nine. Bocht leanbh, poor child. For she is that. A child in a woman's body. My father has her on his horse, he will not allow her to ride on her own for fear she may fall, or injure herself, on not be immediately there to be looked after, or worse, try to escape.

As we rode, my father in front, then all of us, my family, then a squad of Lord Jareth's most trusted warriors and a healer leading the packhorses, I could see visibly she was afraid. Why wouldn't she be? She remembered nothing, and yet she found herself in the arms of a man she had never seen before in her life. Also, while her mind may have been young and childish, her body is not. Her body has also spent almost a thousand years loving that man. She had no idea what to do.

The trouble came with nightfall. We had set up camp in an ideal spot, the guards were on patrol, tents were up, horses were picketed and all was calm. It promised to be a routine in the making. I lay there on the floor, staring up at my tent. I remember conjuring a crystal, rolling it around my fingers and contemplating scrying mo sárálainn daonna. I had just decided to not, I knew you would be angry with me. Or fearful. Because I am just too much of a monster for you now, am I not? Cladhaire leanbh.

Then I heard a high, piercing female scream. I rolled forward and leapt out of my tent, immediately tracking it to the source. My father's tent, of course.

My father looked out of the flap then and told me it was fine, that some uncomfortable memories where beginning to come back. With that, he cast a silence spell of the tent and I apologized to the soldiers, who were uneasy and tense.

I agreed with them. So I snuck a crystal under a part of the tent, watched, and listened. My mother was sat on the bedroll, pressing herself up against the back of the tent. Her knees were drawn up as far as her pregnancy could allow, and she was shaking. There was a bruise spreading across one cheek.

"Scream again," my father threatened, "And I will run you through." He had Ice drawn in his hand, glowering down at her with black, raging eyes.

She remained quiet. Ice slashed perilously close to her head, and she flinched. "Answer me!" He hissed furiously.

"Yes, yes!" she begged, obviously terrified, trying to hide behind her hands.

Sheathing Ice, my father smirked. "Good pet," he crooned, and knelt down beside her. He stroked her hair. To my surprise, I saw his hands were bare. She gasped in surprise, but she was unable to move away.

She had tipped her head back, allowing him to dance his fingers gently over her sensitive neck. I stopped watching at this point, I had no wish to see my parents mate. But I kept an ear open.

They did not, to my relief. I heard them getting into bed and remained there until I heard the deeper breathing of my mother signify she was asleep. Then, I recaptured my crystal and ran quickly to my own tent.

Mo ríonmháthair obviously knows none of her memories, but the King is clearly keeping her happy enough. It seems I have nothing to worry of- yet.

But the time of her Turn has grown ever nearer. I have spoken with my siblings and Juhaka, Jasmine, Jenna, Jérome, Jaeddyn, Joseph, Talulah and even Jailen will stand with me. Talulah vowed to stab our father through the heart as soon as she got the chance.

Maybe we may end up alive out of all this after all.


	24. Entry 24

You just don't understand, do you? You really don't see, at all?

Ignorance, they say, is a blessing.

If so, then let me remove it, MusicOverMatter. I know what the difference of a boy and a man is, I know of my mother's tie to my father and I know of human spirit. But what I know and what you do not is this.

We are _inhuman. _We are not people. We do not love. We do not hate. We do not dislike. We only desire, desire for the hunt. Even Faekyn, you shall find, have no pity or remorse. _You are weak. _That is the truth. Humans are weak, faekyn are strong, and demonkind strongest. You are the prey. Why do you think you breed so quickly when we so slow? Why do you think you bear such close resemblance to us?

Do you think my mother didn't know? Did you think she perhaps didn't guess when she saw him? Did you think that somehow, she was unable to notice how frail she was, how weak, how so easily crushed and tired she was, next to him? Do you think she did not sense the Hunt in his soul? Of course she did. But like you, she believed in _morality. _She believed in free will and choice. There was never any choice for her. Do you understand now? It would not matter if she were the most spirited, strongest woman on the Earth, eventually, he would have hunted her down and destroyed her. Because that, dear human, is what we are made to do.

I am no longer blinded by all of this, tied down. The truth? The difference between good and evil is the same as it has always been. The 'good' are too weak.

I don't have to kill. I don't have to transform and destroy and hunt. But I do, because I _enjoy it. _I like to kill the innocent mortals. I like to destroy your beautiful, emotional kind, play with you, confuse you, manipulate you.

Why do you think there is a chamber, deep underground and secured, with an easy passageway, underneath our castle? Where magic spells and chains of solid iron hang in the torch-light? Because that is where my mother imprisons my father. When he turns, when she does something that is too much, that makes him want to taste of her flesh, she runs, along the passageway, and he would chase. He would chase, and play with her. Scarred, weeping, bleeding, she would emerge while his howls of fury at his captivity would shake the castle walls far above.

Why do you think she was torn asunder at my birth? Because I could taste the blood. And it drove me insane. The doctors all said I was an early birth. All of my brothers and sisters have been early births, far, far too early.

Jenna transformed for the first time yesterday. She attacked and murdered her most recent lover, of which she has had many. And as before, my father made her submit.

It isn't about my mother anymore. We all feel protectiveness we associate with what you call love towards her, towards each other. I would not ever wish her death. I would preserve her with all the care I have. But if I must, I will.

There can only ever be one king. And I want that king to be me.

Níl! Mé bheith i seirbhís ag an arracht ollpheist. Buartha, mo óg aoń. My apologies. We are within Rafthstead Peak now and dark magic taints me and sways me to beserk. I must hunt- I must eat. When I return, perhaps my nails shall not spear the keys of the board.

Time has passed. My hunger is sufficiently sated. We have yet to begin the rite to Turn my mother once more. Instead, we now wait.

As I lead her in, holding her warm hand to prevent her from stumbling, she gripped unusually tight to my arm, and I heard her stumble more than once. I had turned back to reassure her with a smile only to see to my shock her face a contortion of pain and her eyes screwed tightly shut. I called my father, and he rushed over to her. It quickly became apparent that she was going into labor.

For the nine-and-twentieth time. But only twelve living, breathing children to show. I am sat in my tent, as I write. I will not be able to speak long. As I wait her screams are stopping. The baby is alive, I can sense its life force. But it is twisted and stunted. A dwarf, with a twisted spine and the brains of an idiot. A boy. My father calls. Whilst my mother is weak and her defenses down he means to Turn her.

I prepare. When I next speak with you it will be decided, either way.

Dorchadas póraigh tréan anseo. Darkness breeds strongly here. Monsters emerge from the shadows. You would know I have been partly successful if I write here rather than lay stretched out on a dungeon rack covered in my own blood and the pain of helplessness, or laying abandoned upon a cold dark floor with glassy eyes, or at best in our crypt, buried in true accordance to the Old Ways. I cannot simplify what happened. I am unable to speak. I lie in bed, weak and recovering from my ordeal. Thus, the events.

I set up the rite as ordered by my father- first, I drew a hendecagon upon the floor, and a pentagram within it, and a circle in each point of the hendecagon, of which there were eleven. I then constructed a Soul Trap net above the pentagram. The soul trap would hold the souls of the departed within the pentagram.

I then set about burning thyme, and other herbs. We were each given a cup of...the closest I could come to translation in this tongue is liquid-magic. It is a special brew distilled from...I know no words! I cannot describe it to you. It's effects bolster the mind and allows a certain heady drugged feeling to set in.

We moved my mother, exhausted, bloody, and sore, into the pentagram with her newborn child. There we carefully pulled them apart and inked them with tattoos.

Normally when we do magics we do not bother with ceremonies and incense and the lot, that is for you who scrabble around in the earth. But this is different- the taking of a life and the giving of it. It holds great import and although I believe my father could do it himself with only a soul trap to entrap them, this is also a lesson.

Then each of us, myself, Jérome, Jasmine, Juhaka, Jenna, Talulah, Joseph, Jaeddyn, Linyaari and Jailen, took up our positions and joined forces with our father. Together, we easily raised the spheres of protection.

The trouble came later. We were sawing through the strings that held my baby brother's youthful magic and mind to his body, and set it free. I chose then to act. I pulled away from the communion, and ran out of my sphere. It was eerie- each of my brothers and sisters were standing, arms upraised, eyes closed, mouths open, each a perfect copy of another till I ran to the patriarch. He was the only one who seemed to notice something amiss. He had his eyes open, and I could sense the glistening black-blue strands of his crystalline magic wrapped around my brother's life force, and more around my mother, keeping her unconscious, stable, calm, and alive, despite the gaping wounds from her birthing. More still around my siblings, holding them immobile, draining their power. I knew then he was much, much stronger than I had ever possibly suspected. I could not have held ten faerie warlocks and witches motionless and still as well as fighting off death for two separate spirits and confronting another. And yet there he was, staring at me, and I sensed an onrush of power as he gathered his Voice to Speak. Not his ordinary saying voice, his Voice using the height of his power, fully unshielded.

Then he Spoke my Name, the Name that is all I am. I heard myself scream in rage and pain at the sound, for it described me in all my entirety. Bare. Every flaw, every strength, laid out for people to examine. The sound of his Voice blew me backwards, and I cannoned through the rocks, back and back, until I fell helplessly, like a broken ragdoll.

I knew not what happened after this, nor saw it with my own eyes, but I know somewhat from other people. I had passed out, my spine broken and twisted and my skull broken. My magic had already started to heal me. Had I been human, I would have simply been pulverised on the spot.

I had no idea how long I was out, but I was awakened by a surge of exultant power. It was they- forcing my brother's spirit into my mother. I heard her screaming.

I could see nothing. I was blind- sparks dancing in the blackness. I groped forwards, along the passageway made by my fall. The air was thick with dust. I choked.

I managed to find my way back into the central chamber. My vision had started to improve, I could see blurry shapes. I crawled to where my father stood, surrounded by a crackling nimbus. The other faeries had fallen to their knees. I remember being extremely confused, I couldn't remember anything, apart from _kill him. _I grabbed my dagger and plunged it into his back.

He did not even turn, but I heard a scream. One of the fallen figures exploded in a mess of gory blood and pulped flesh. I would know later it was my little brother, baby Jailen.

I could not kill him unless I killed each of my siblings first.

I fumbled at my father's hip, found his sword.

Ice.

I drew it. As it touched my hand I felt a surge of energy, and my vision was healed and my memories returned in a jolt. My body straightened and I stood proud and tall as I wielded the blade. I then leaned forward and stabbed him again, straight through his heart.

He screamed as the blade pierced his chest, and I felt a wave of magic so strong I knew that had I been inside the hendecagon I would have been incinerated. I heard two more screams and thuds.

Slowly, he toppled forwards, falling head first into the pentagram where my mother and the lifeless form of my brother lay. I stretched my mind and found the spell, bolstering it with my own energy. I saw then the spirits.  
They were beautiful in an unearthly way. There were three of them, one pure as snow but tinted with greys of what he would become. And another. This one I could not recognize. It was dark grey, stormy in colour, and roiled with anger and hatred. It was female, but none I had known before. I pulled it closer and it overwhelmed me.

My mother.

I pushed her down, towards her broken body. She resisted me- lashed out for any power. She grasped hold of the white-grey spirit and swallowed it. But instead of bolstering her power it drained it suddenly as she made the startling transition from mortal to immortal. I pressed her down into her flesh, and drawing on the power of my fainting siblings, I sealed her within her fleshly tomb.

The third spirit was flying around me now, fast and furious. This one was as dark as night, with shimmering overtones of navy-blue. It was ancient. It was awing and I felt so young, so lost and alone next to it's might. I tried to overwhelm it, heard another scream, my power dropped.

The spirit suddenly enveloped my psyche, and in that second I knew everything it did.

The knowledge was too much. I heard myself scream as the power fried my brain, and I sank unconsciously forwards, slumping over the body of my father.

What I did not know was that I died that day. My father's power was too much for me to contain, and he destroyed me. If I hadn't fell into the pentagram, my soul would have been lost. But Jenna was there.

She forced my father's spirit back into his body, and then fell. It was Talulah who made me return.

So we have won. But at what cost?

Jailen is dead. Jaeddyn is dead. Linyaari is dead. My baby-brother, the boy who never lived, is dead.

And my mother is irrevocably tainted. Once she was pure. Once she was a dove amongst our ravens.

It seems even doves can't last forever.


	25. Entry 25

Have you ever felt the anguish of knowing your mother doesn't care whether you live or die? That it is her greatest pleasure to pick out new agonising methods for your pain? That she sees you as vermin- as a body to inflict her rage and hatred upon?

That when you lie there, cold and bloody against a merciless table with irons around your wrists- hurting you, but you don't dare tell her- you know it is her wielding the whip? That when you scream and jolt upright in your sleep, haunted by nightmares worse than death- you know it is her laughing in your ears? That when she takes those you love and throw their cold corpses upon the floor in front of your eyes- you know she killed them? That when she forces you to attack shades created off your own loves- to murder your own sister- see her blood pour over the floor- her dark, hopeless eyes staring into your own- _why did you do this to me?- _you know she made it to hurt you?

To know that even devils are kinder?

That when you lie there, bleeding, screaming, tortured, _broken, _she won't let you go? That she passes limits set down- she actively attempts to kill you? To hear the screams of your brothers and sisters- knowing they are suffering for their treachery as you are? To know that your father- once your rolemodel, then your devil, now your only hope- the light through the keyhole in your prison's door- is too weak? To know that he will not- cannot- force her to stop? To know that he cares more for his pain than he does for his offspring? That he would leave you to die- by your own mother's hand?

To know with utter agony you are nothing, worthless, unwanted, destroyed, broken, desecrated, hated by all? To know that when she brings down things for me to eat- to know that I have ceased to think of the outside world beyond my cell as wonderful, free, perfect- populated with bizarre and beautiful creatures- as things, its? To know that when they look upon me they scream- try to hide, futile, in the all-seeing eyes of the hunger- and run?

To know that the world would be _better off if you were dead?_

**I apologise for the shortness- but that's what's running through poor prince's head. **


	26. Entry 26

Pain.

The world is a collage of pain and death. Light pain, when she's not there, and you lay limp in your cell, but the light hurts your eyes. You have grown used to the hurt now. It no longer bothers you- the ache in your belly, the smell of the ripe, delicious humans down the corridor.

Dark pain, when she hurts you, and you try to scream but you end up coughing instead. When you taste your blood and you want more. More, more, more.

The other girl comes sometimes. You don't mind her. She doesn't hurt you as much. You just had to lay still and let her feed you. Let her hurt you. It hurts even to swallow.

Pain and death.

This is your world, now. You live here. You live in the shadows of the cells. You was thrown into the cells to take away your freedom- now you cannot take your freedom away from yourself. You wanted to wait. You wanted to be strong. Brave. Foolish.

But you ended up telling her everything. About them. About those people who used to talk to you. You can't remember them now. They seem far away. Disconnected. You feel only the pain, and hear only the death.

He comes for you, sometimes. Waits outside, his pale hair shining in the brief light. You think he looks like a ghost. You scream madly when you see him and fly at him, attacking, attacking, and the Devil holds you with pain in his eyes – always the pain- and says, "My son."

You are the son of the devil, he says. Son of the devil, enslaved by Lilith. His unholy mate. She of red hair of brown.

You hit the black squares in front of you- they make tapping noises. She laughs behind you as you write. You know she is there. She is always there. Watching you. Tormenting you.

You wonder what would happen if you told her. But you already did, didn't you? You can't remember anymore. Why don't you just die and leave the world alone?

She is walking towards you. You cry. It is over.

_Greetings once more, pure ones._

_Fool. That child couldn't keep anything from me. I only had to read over his shoulder as he wrote. He disgusts me with his incompetence. _

_The rat's spawn are all like that. They just...submit. After a few weeks of torture they all just gave up. Apart from the baby. Oh yes. Little Vahaya was the strongest- but eventually, she gave in too. There is no point to this. I just want to kill them, but he won't let me. My master. Hah! My enslaver. The man who destroyed my life, destroyed everything._

_I hate him. I want to kill him. I will rip out his heart and tie him to a pyre with his own intestines made of his demonspawn's dismembered bodies. But I can't. Because if I kill him, then I kill myself...and life is just too sweet now I have finally opened my eyes for me to give it up just yet._

_I would swear upon the bones of my mother, but go ahead and desecrate them. What would I swear on? Oh yes. I swear upon the hatred of my _dear husband_ he will die one day by my hand._

_I feel for you, having to listen to that idiot's demented ravings about such trifling matters as 'good' and 'bad'. Hah! Good, bad, what's the difference? Sooner or later they will die. Sooner or later, they will be killed._

_But I must leave you again so soon, for my _dear one_ calls. I will show him just how much I care if he spends a tormented eternity in the Third World!_

_Sarah_


	27. Entry 27

_THEY ARE NOT MY CHILDREN! _They are devilspawn, taint upon the Earth! They are abominations, they _disgust _me, along with their son of a bitch father! They are nothing to do with me!

My life was already destroyed. I was blinded, blinded by foolish trickery and traps of the mind. _He _destroyed it all. He corrupted me. I was pure in my ignorance, until _he _interfered! Why couldn't he just let me be? Why did he choose _me _to annihilate?

Once, I could turn to a dove. The purest, gentlest form anyone could know. And that was even after I knew the sadnesses and injustices, and the ways of men. Now? I am a raven.

once so pure like light above there was no one i could not love and who needed it more than the sad king but he had secrets he did not tell after the ring and what could i do i was his everything was solved with a kiss if only i knew what was really true if only i knew but then it was too late but i could never hate not till i knew what was done and the demonmonster had come.

I am dark, tainted, destroyed, corrupted, take your pick. I loved anything, anyone. I saw a child on the street, I would care for it. Now? I would kill it.

I was blinded. Bound by the trappings of his magics. I believed I could tame him. Believed there was goodness in him that could be reached. I was wrong.

I want to kill them all...I just want them to die! But he won't let me! Why won't he let me be free?

I want to hurt him, I will hurt him.

Don't you see, mysticrox, lolgirl, artseblis, FallenAngelVamp, I _have _seen the light. I have woken up. I am still me! I am. I am but I know now the truth of what _he _is, and that answer is simple, demon. I want nothing with him! Yet it is always he, who rules my life as if he were the sun I once called him! But he does not lead me to before, he leads me to madness, darkness, betrayal...

He will come for me when the day is done and he believes the demonspawn have been tortured enough. He will grab my arms, pin me to him, transport us to our chambers. He will hold me down on our bed and feed me, force me to eat. I would rather not. I would rather just die!

He always drugs the food, so by the time I'm finished I am placid and weak. Then he will bathe me, ignoring my weak flailing arms trying to scratch him, hurt him.

when the day is done and the guides are one he will come and there shall be pain again in the darkness the ways of demonmen pretend to care lure me in your lair so you can chain me once more like your rabid dirty whore when the day is done.

You know what's really laughable, though? _I _brewed all the drugs he feeds me to keep me docile enough. Docile enough to repair our bond every now and then.

Oh yes. If we were nothing close to each other for a couple of years, eventually, it would start to wane, break apart. And I would be free. But he has cursed me with neverending life, stolen from my own child! He has killed me.

I am still me! Please...

But I'm not. Maybe you're right. Maybe I deserve to stay with that bastard. Maybe I'm just another bloody monster that takes sadistic pleasure in torturing people. It seems that's what I've become, hasn't it?

I _remember everything._I remember how I knew freedom until my _dearest son_ forced me back into slavery to his father. I remember existing, in a feverish dream, uncertain, confused, a baby in a woman's body, dependent entirely on Jareth's good will. His very name makes me sick.

When he tore through my mind, he destroyed everything. He tainted every dear memory, every gentle thought, I ever had. What young girl wants to dream how her mother died? Because he has shown me. Shown me her rotting corpse lying, her teeth rotted and her bones crumbling from the drugs, with countless breaks and fractures from all the violent men she finally became involved in just to pay for it all, the cocaine, heroine, cannabis.

He has shown me the darkness in everything. I can no longer see the light anymore. I hate everything. Everyone. Even you. You don't care about anything, you're just reading for a good story.

I just want to die! Why can't he let me go? Why do I have to be a monster, too?


	28. Entry 28

How can He see into my mind, like open doors? Can He take vengeance on these traitorous thoughts? Bow down before Him, gaze on in wonder- for He is perfect, everlasting in His glory...

It never was and never will be! He doesn't know how He betrayed me, somehow I've become everybody's fool...

I pray.

_i want to die_

The world keeps turning! The fire keeps burning! And he, he, always him, keeps hurting?

Yes, yes, yes, hurt. Pain. Pain in my soul, pain, he's hurting. He hurts because I hate him. No! NO! I do not hate you, you are the sun-and-stars of my life!

_just give me more_

I need it. I need it, i need it. The powder. I cant feel anything when hes given me the powder iwant it why wont he give it to me?

Hes sad he cries he wants me back i cry no i never want to go back and hes a monster and it hurts

He hurts his claws his teeth his eyes of dragonfire his blood oh his blood hot warm delicious

I want the powder

The powder in my drink in my food gives it to me keeps me happy i don't care when hurt

I want only more

Where is it i want more

Love love love where is it

Don't cry im still the same look i love you i kiss you where is it

His blood his blood his blood his blood

Luscious pounding

Bloodbloodbloodblodd

Powderpowderpowder

I need it where have you put it don't cry give it to me i need it now

Give it to me or ill die don't cry again i need it else ill die ill throw myself off a cliff then il be dead and i cant hurt without the powder

Or his blood

Searing precious burning his forever

Minemineminemine! She is mine! Stay away from her! I own her, she is mine!  
yoursyoursyoursyours

Powder where is it

Don't hate me. I need you. I need you! Why don't you love me like you did before? I have only ever honoured your wishes. But you refuse to keep your promises! Like I have done year on year. Never once have I strayed and yet here you lie your open eyes the very acts of defiance! Take me away lock me up i cant take it i need the powder

Give it to me baby give it to me give me the powder

Bloodbloodblood

Nonono don't go you haven't given me enough i need more jareth where are you

Bloodbloodbloodpowder

Mydaughter mydaughter mydaughter my girl give me the blood

You have it too i need the demonblood

Give it to me why wont you help me

Yes take it take it blood

Yes

You must forgive, I can't speak English good.

My name is Jenna. I have a brother. His name is Jareth.

My father has my mother.

He is strong. We do not say no. We do not say no to mathair. Athair say no to that. We always say yes.

Dia Mé fuathaigh seo! I can't speak good.

I strong than mathair. I should be over her. Strong, yes? _Dominant. _You say?

But athair say no, mathair is weak, but we not _dominant _over. But now, good. Mathair weak. Mathair do not say no to anyone.

We are dominant.

She is not Faekyn. Faekyn girl low, always weak to boy. But does not matter. Girl has life in her. Boy does not. Girl is blessed. Boy is not. Girl is always hungry. Girl always needs to say yes to boy for life to stay. If no than she get too hungry, die. Faekyn mna tháinig dochreidte fisiceach goilé. Má siad déan mar a dhéanaimse ní do thart a chosc sé san am sin siad faigh bás.

Mathair…is like faekyn girl now. She is hungry, but she say no. She too hungry. Use blood, less hungry. Need blood. Lot blood. Athair give mathair drug. Powder. She need powder now.

I give blood. Mathair not so hungry now. She sleep.

Will be. When she wake, she be hungry. She be faekyn faekyn faekyn. She need say yes, but she say no. Athair know. He no give her choice. He dominant. She say yes to athair. As it should be.

Brother, Jareth. He is too hungry- bad hunger. I hunger like him. Need blood. Not faekyn, humankyn. Humankyn blood, we need.

But I say no to that.

I do not take the humankyn blood. It is easy, easy to take, but I do not.

I do not because I talk. I read. Jareth talk to humankyn. His humankyn, yes?

Iarraidh, now. I too hungry to talk. Iarraidh.


	29. Entry 29

Tá ... Ba mhaith liom beannú duit, mortal chreiche ... ach níl a fhios agam conas chun aghaidh a thabhairt leat ... mo mháthair agus mo dheartháir an dá insint dom a shealbhú ar ais go fóill mo instincts teagasc dom go bhfuil tú ann chun Scriosfar ...

Mathair wakes. She scared- very scared. Athair put her in a príosún, céasadh seomra, dungeon. She very, very hungry. He know this. He know, he leave her. He wait. Then he attack.

Ní bheidh sí bheith seans. Tá a fola awoken, ach riachtanais sí fuil as an chineál Demon fíor a chothú di. Beidh sé starve léi, ní le fada, ach fada go leor nach mbeidh sí in ann seasamh in aghaidh nuair a ligeann sé í amach.

She get hungry. Very, very hungry. She need blood more more. If no blood she die.

Is é mo mháthair lag. Riachtanais sí an fhuil níos láidre a choimeád beo féin. Má tá sí doesn 't é a fháil, beidh sí bás, bíodh sé trí fhéinmharú nó starvation.

No honor, hear from me. Bad. You, prey, should be very scared. An bhfuil tú delusional nó cad é?

Mystic rocks, mathair weak. Athair strong. Simple. Athair know mathair weak. Athair make mathair hungry- need athair blood to live. Before, she not need blood, they have bond. She broke bond. Athair angry.

Punishes sé di as a cuid disobedience. Ní chuirimid isteach ar, mar go bhfuil sí ina sheilbh agus nach linne. Bhris sí ceangail leis nuair a dhiúltaigh sí é, mar sin dá bhrí sin a choimeád siar sé é féin as a cuid. Ach tá sí leath draíochta anois-sí de dhíth ar an chumhacht a chuid fola.

Tá sí marbh ar aon nós. Níl aon phointe i ag iarraidh a shábháil ... Prey atá i gceist a bás.

**Tip- /translation/irishX/to-english/translationX/ may help you with our dear princess's words. Just remove the X's.**


	30. Entry 30

I'm starving.

I think I'm dying. Do you think I'm dead?

No, that's silly, isn't it? I can't be dead. Not if I'm writing. Right?

God, I'm so hungry. Danu help me, I'm parched.

My throat feels like it's been stuck together. My mouth is dry, I cannot speak. I lay so helpless on the floor. I'm pathetic. My only light is the weak laptop as I write. My rich clothes are rags on my body, but I can see no marks on my skin. I'm so pale. I look whiter than snow.

I can smell blood everywhere. I know it's my blood. Where am I? I think I must be in a dungeon. I can feel-

Him.

Oh God! He's everywhere!

Surrounding my mind, in my mind, in me! Help me! Help me!

I need you

I need you

Give me the blood im so hungry please please please ill beg let me do anything yes yours anything yours forever of course i am yours you know this why are you asking me let me prove to you let me prove to you im yours just give me that blood beautiful dark blood down my throat soothing me calming me two giants running faster our beating hearts thumping together hurrying faster and faster towards death then he's gone oh baby come back im still hungry

No no no don't mess with my head you weren't even here anyway oh please help me  
i want to die

No. I will not fall into that bastard's trap again! Trick me and tease me all you want with your illusions, I'll never submit to you, you son of a bitch! You just couldn't cope with it, could you? That I didn't want you? That I was the only one who'd ever said no?

So what did you do? You reeled me in, hooked me on magic. You knew I would crave it ever after, didn't you? All I ever was to you was a body, a thing. A slave to be ordered about. To be dominated.

But you never guessed what would happen, did you?

That when you used me and threw me away to nurture your bastard for sakes of an _experiment, _that I'd kill it? You always thought me so weak.

But then you took Toby...

Oh, my brother. Why did you do that to me? You knew I loved him. Was it just to hurt me? A child for a child, you said. I tried to get him back, but I couldn't.

You ripped his soul out.

You ripped it out and forced me to watch as you rescued your bastard child's soul and implanted it in Toby's body. You called him Jareth. What else could I do but love him, continue the pretence?

But then I tried to kill you, too. You didn't like that, did you? Not when I stabbed you, again and again, for every time. So you took my memories. Overwrote them.

You deluded me into believing he was my son! I was happy in my ignorance. A thousand years of loving you, of bearing and raising your children.

It all started to go wrong for you when I first began talking to the mortals. Dear friends of mine! You were so angry when you found out. You were so angry I had to drug you and lock us in an oubliette together to 'convince' you to leave them alone. I never told them that.

I never told them how you used to hurt me but I didn't care, because it was your nature, you liked to hurt people. I never told them how when it all became too much for you and you Turned back to your true form I would have to run from you and chain you up like some sort of dog. I never told them how I am covered in scars because of you. I never told them how I would find the bodies in the dungeons, ripped and mauled as if by some animal and would know in the sickness of my heart it was you who did it, you who systematically hunted and killed my kind.

I never told them how it was you behind all of their catastrophes. How I knew it was you who caused the fall of Rome, you who threw the meteor onto Earth, you who caused each and every hurricane, tsunami, volcanic eruption. You who tempted people away from their homes and hearts to hell.

I never told anyone your secrets because I loved you.

Love. How was I ever that stupid? Did you truly believe you could hide the truth from me forever?

And then when I found out the truth from your lips using your own Name of all Names, you couldn't handle it. No, you had to come find me. You forced me back to your side and you took control of my mind so I could never flee. And then you poisoned me, until I became this.

So I broke you.

I broke us in half. You never knew I had the power to do that, did you? But you can't be the wife of one such as powerful as you for a thousand years without picking up some magic. I lied to the mortals about that as well. I was such a goody-two-shoes, keeping all our secrets religiously. And relationships, feelings, emotions, have always been my speciality.

Like Hoggle and his stupid new wife. I was behind that. I influenced them into loving each other.

I snapped your children like twigs. All of them. I broke them all and I destroyed them. And in vengeance, you tried to drive me insane too. But it all backfired when you realised just how much you needed me. So you tried to make me want to come to you by starving me of magic.

I took all that binds us together and broke it. Our bond, our love, our everything.

Now you can be the one hurting in the dark and I can go my own way. I never cared about you, Jareth. You may have cast your web of illusions over me and made me believe I did, but I never truly did. Was this what you wanted? I was not supposed to be with you. I was not made to be Goblin Queen. The Goblin King may have fallen in love with the girl, and given her certain powers, but where does it ever say the girl loved him back?

**This is Sarah, by the way. And unless you didn't catch it, she's in a dungeon, being tortured by Jareth for her disobedience, by him planting illusions of giving her the blood she desperately craves to refresh the magic in her soul and then taking them away. And then this is her getting pissy, believing she's talking to Jareth. She has power over emotions. She destroyed all the sanity of her children, drove them all mad. Apart from Jenna, it would seem. Jareth, in fury over her actions, locked Sarah in a dungeon and tried to hurt her back for literally cracking the minds of their children, but then he realised it wasn't working, because she took the soul bond that bound them together heart and mind and snapped it in half. **


	31. Entry 31

I'm free.

It feels so strange. I don't recognise anything. I'm so used to having to ask permission to even go outside I feel drunk on my own choices.

I escaped from the castle only yesterday morning. I found Hoggle and made him take me Aboveground. I guess my secret's out of the bag now. I can manipulate emotions. I can puppet people to do whatever I wish. Hoggle didn't want to, even now, he's wary of disobeying the bastard who enslaved me, but I managed to 'convince' him to take me through his mirror.

I can remember hardly anything about the Aboveground- thanks to Jareth, who took great pleasure in obliterating it all from my mind. Everything I see is so new, so strange.

I've been wandering a little helplessly around some strange city. It is nothing like I have ever seen! Tall towers of seamless stone and polished glass rising higher than I'd've ever thought possible. Roaring creatures with shining coats devouring humans only to grudgingly choke them back up again scuttle across long flat strips of black rock. Flashing signs that make my head ache and my eyes hurt show words that change colour. The whole place reeks of humans, and an acrid poisonous smoke.

And it's so loud! The Castle Beyond the Goblin City is normally incredibly quiet. Although it may sound contradictory goblins pride themselves on not being seen or heard. Unless they're drunk, or having a party, in which case they're almost as boisterous as the fire gang.

But here it's absolutely packed with humans. Dark eyed creatures with skin ranging from dark brown-black to white to deeply tanned. I feel so much of an outsider with my flawless snow-pale skin that looks as if it has never seen the sunlight, and my dark hair, and my huge jade eyes framed by thick lashes. Also, I'm the only one wearing a dress.

Even the human women wear rough blue trousers, or if not embarrassingly short skirts. They ring their eyes in kohl and paint their lips with red. I can see where they've caked their skin with cream that covers all the minute flaws on their faces. At first I enjoyed just wandering around and drinking in the sights, but eventually I got hungry, and bored.

I found some sort of shop. I found some food but it was in packs of hard, clear material. Luckily I managed to find someone to help me.

He laughed at me and seemed genuinely amused when I asked him why the food was all in packets. He asked me what I was dressing up as. I said I used to be a queen. Used to be? He questioned me, and I replied I'd only just left my king.

He asked me some very odd questions but apparently, I passed, because he not only bought me some food but offered me a place to stay. So when night fell, I went back with him.

It was clear what he wanted from me. I am not so naive as to believe that despite my past with Jareth that it would not stop men from desiring me. Especially since I had turned up to people's houses once or twice and had them mistake me as Aphrodite.

He was quite disappointing. The perks of being immortal- beauty, speed, strength, stamina far beyond that of ordinary humans. I ended up breaking most of his bones, despite, frankly, that he had had all the sex appeal of a dead fish. Although he was an arrogant bastard who liked to torture people and other sadistic things, Jareth did know the tricks of the trade that he had taught me. And he was virtually indestructible. Despite my heightened strength I was still pitifully weak next to him. I never had to restrain myself before.

I saw no point in lingering by his side when he was unconscious, nor was I tired, so I decided to try and find something fun to do.

I meandered around for a while, before I accidently walked into some sort of brothel. At least, I assumed it was. There were many such places in the Underground. Faeries enjoyed pleasures of the flesh and were not as inhibited as I thought humans to be.

I hurried out quickly. I was not in the least bit spent by that pitiful male but I had no particular wish to entertain any of the patrons of the club. They all appeared to be old, fusty men with sagging stomachs. With hair on their faces. How is that possible? It's just unnatural.

Talking about unnatural things.

I guess you all deserve the truth now. I can remember everything, once I broke the control he had over me. Let's start at the beginning...

I don't think he ever truly got over my defeat of him. As you can probably imagine he has never been told no before, and I think with the addition of the 'love' spell Aphrodite put over him he quickly became obsessed with me. Through the twisted mirror of his black heart he came to think I owed him a debt. A child, he thought, for a child. So he came to me one night. He must have fed me something similar to the peach, because that night and my first time is a bit blurred.

All I can remember is that his eyes were black- as black as the deep shadows lurking in unused oubliettes.

Nonetheless it is not too difficult to guess what went on because I woke the following morning lying alone in the forest not far from my home, naked, covered in deep scratches, unable to move from broken bones, and in quite a bit of pain. I ended up being rushed to hospital- all around my hips were broken and my forearms had been snapped in half. Now, I can guess he probably didn't mean to hurt me that badly. Considering he then returned a day later, posing as a doctor with a 'miracle bone repair', enchanted his way past every nurse and doctor before healing me and promptly dying of a 'car crash'.

A while later, I found out I was pregnant.

It had taken me so long to guess that I was past being able to just take a pill. I was only sixteen at the time, and the bad blood between myself and Karen had not fully dissipated. So I went into the abortion clinic on my own. They said I was ineligible for an abortion. There was something wrong with the child that could possibly endanger me if they attempted to take it out prematurely. They decided to closely monitor my pregnancy.

It seemed that the child had quite a bit of his father in him, because even before being born he was able to mess with my mind and trick me into believing something that was not. I loved the child desperately and when the doctors began to get worried and tried to tell me it would be a good idea to take the child out before it could cause a mutation in my womb I ignored them.

Shockingly, both the baby and I survived the rocky childbirth with minimal injuries, though we both ended up being landed in hospital for a while. It was not difficult to see why. The child was a monster.

It- he- was a blend of two races, one of magic and one of not. But he had been warped by lack of exposure to magic and was deformed and sickly. Rather like my thirteenth child whom Jareth slaughtered to give me long years.

He was weak and in a perpetual state of dying. His skin was yellow-green and his eyes were milky white with blindness. His bones were thin and his muscles refused to develop at a proper rate, and his head was too heavy for his thin neck to support. He had Jareth's claws, tiny, but razor-sharp, and his teeth, each a little pearly fang. I named him Stephan. I was devoted to him, blind in my complete adoration to this abomination child.

I was obsessed with him. I could see no flaws with him. He could not eat normal food, so I fed him on a mixture of my blood and milk. As per usual, the Goblin King seemed hellbent on murdering my happiness. He came to again and told me I must kill Stephan.

I didn't take the news well.

I tried to kill him, and he got furious with me. He left, surprisingly, without enacting revenge however.

Then Stephan fell sick. He was always weak, and it only took two weeks for him to die. I was wrecked, and fell into a deep depression. The human doctors could not help me with their pills and their mental asylums. I tried to suicide at least three times, each saved by the Goblin King.

Finally, he must have gotten fed up with my attempts to destroy myself, because he told me he could return Stephan to me...at a price. Overjoyed, I agreed blindly. I didn't care what happened to me.

Jareth stole me away from the Aboveground, and brought me secretly to the castle. I was not mentally sane. I cared nothing for anyone or anything, only for Stephan. I was dead inside. When he told me what I had to do, I accepted dully- I could not have cared less.

So every night I went to his chambers, and every morning I was tested. At last, I had fallen pregnant again.

It was much easier in the Underground. The inherent magic in the child was stronger, and was able to fight more effectively against my humanness. But Jareth had once again made a mistake. I was still pure human, and he was not.

Once again, I gave birth to some sort of weak thing. There wasn't much difference to Stephan, but the child was not born stupid as Stephan was. He possessed a startling intellect, and Jareth was all but heartbroken (if he had a heart) to keep a child chained up in such a body. He was named Jareth after his father, seeing as I was in no state to say a name other than Stephan.

He began searching for a cure. I meanwhile, had become even more dangerously unstable. I began to think as my second child as an imposter, a thing to Stephan. I drowned him.

Furious, Jareth decided once and for all to end my resistances and my madness. He stole Toby, my beloved brother, and chained me up to watch. Then he ripped my brother's soul out, and replaced it with baby Jareth's. From there it was simple to force me to have _another _child to make Toby/Jareth the younger immortal, which I achieved in a few weeks thanks to Jareth the elder's meddling. Then he overwrote my memories, made me believe Toby had died of leukaemia and that Jareth was in fact entirely my son.

I returned to the mortal world with my 'son'. I don't really know how old I was. I had lost track of time, but I know that when the Labyrinth happened, I was fifteen, when Jareth came back for the first time I was sixteen, when Stephan died I was seventeen. Official records tell me I stayed in the mental asylum for about seven and a half months, then I disappeared for about three years. So I was roughly, twenty, twenty-one when I finally returned.

I had to go back through all my missed schoolwork, and to be frankly honest got crappy grades for everything. Having a child was extremely taxing for me, Jareth was too young for me to leave him on his own, and people had already written me off as a dumb, crazy whore.

Despite that I managed to get a small job working in a youth cafe as a sort of social worker. I spent about five years in the back end of nowhere living off benefits and failing to provide enough for my growing 'son' and myself. Till the Underground decided to mess with my life...again.

Jareth's cousin Lucien stole me away, leaving Jareth/Toby on his own. He tried to enchant me as his, but furious, Jareth charged in like an angry bear and took me back again. He rescued his 'child' and refused to let me go.

I was tormented by everything, was in danger of losing my mind again, so he enchanted me again.

I fell in love. We married, and I Turned, and for a thousand years we were happy, until I learned the truth.

So, now you know.

How he tricked me into coming back to him so he could bind me once again. How when I regained my senses I used my powers to break the minds of his children like twigs, sending them all to the grips of insanity. How he tried to get his vengeance by locking me away from my only sustenance. How I proved my power over him by taking everything we had and ripping in two. I could have broken him as well. But I couldn't.

. I loved him for centuries. He was my sun and stars, the guide to my life. And now he's gone. He destroyed my life. He wrecked everything.

So why do I miss him?


	32. Entry 32

It's like a dark paradise.

At night, when the good people have locked themselves away, the monsters come out to play. And I walk in the shadows, as home in the darkness as the murderer, darting in and out of pools of yellow light from flickering streetlamps, his blade gleaming like flicking ice. I pace the dark alleyways, the groaning addicts my companions, their rotting, diseased bodies lying like abandoned puppets with their strings cut. The roving gangs watch me, with their dark human eyes so fascinated, even as they approach, believing themselves immortal in their fearless crimes, when they cannot comprehend the truth of true evil, true pain, that I have experienced and known. The staggering drunks, their gleaming bottles, reeking of stale beer and hopelessness. The erstwhile couples, gasping harshly within the night, their rosy flesh tinted with the forbidden pleasure of their dark trysts.

The angry labyrinth of the streets. A labyrinth I both rule and dominate, as truly and as strongly as the one I did before. But here, I have no immortal master to hold me back, to deny me.

Passing among the dark haunts of the human realm, I am at home.

For this stinking, filthy place, is where I belong. Undoubtedly, for where else would I go, but to dwell here?

Once I would shrank from this realisation, denied it, turned away. Once, maybe, I would have fought the darkness inside of me- the darkness inside all of us. But then, I realise, am I being true to myself? Not, I think, when I walk the streets and with a casual glance enrapture the passing mortals, until they turn, frantic, feeling as if they have missed something, if they could just glimpse it in the corner of their eye...But they never can.

It allows me to see how truly I have changed. No longer do I allow illusions of my faith and beliefs to intrude upon my judgement. I may have once belonged to that world of light and life, skimming across the top of the surface, peering into the darkness within, but no longer. Does it matter, what crime I have committed?

When I know I have lost everything?

I destroyed everything. I murdered, I wrecked, my own children. I feel so darkly, deeply...what? I don't know. Depressed? I feel like I'm falling backwards into a dark hole, and before me I see Jareth, glowing like a star, and the broken bodies of the children I bore scattered around his feet like ragdolls. What has happened to me?

Guilt. _Guilt._

I feel so guilty, for doing this. For leaving Jareth! I feel guilty because I know he would be hurt, and I know that in a twisted, horrific way he did love me, that in his sick, mad mind he thought of me with some type of...tainted love.

_Tainted._

Too true. I am tainted, as he is. I've done things just as bad as he has. He murders defenceless children, humans, _people. _I have broken the minds of how many? I have killed my own children. I have done all these things because of what? Vengeance on their father. Did they deserve it? No. Should I have done it? No, they were innocent.

They were monsters, abominations, freaks of nature. Things that never should have been, but they were. They were and I took from them everything they had.

If Jareth returned...I honestly don't know what I'd do.

With Jareth there has always been an element of the untamed. Around him I always felt a sort of dark animalistic temptation to give in, as he had, to the bloodier desires and pleasures that sin could offer. But what is sin when there is no right to return to?

I lived in a fairytale, for the longest time. He gave me what I wanted most- I was a queen, I ruled over a fantasy land and my king was everything I could have ever wished for. But nothing lasts forever, and I am alone again, with this dark thing, this love that resembles rage. I feel broken in half, as if when I broke _us _I broke myself also.

Would I hurt him? I don't know. I find myself unpredictable, helpless, really. I could have destroyed him too, but I didn't. Why? I don't know. Somehow I know I wouldn't be able to help myself, stop myself, if he did return, but from doing what?

If I wanted to, I could.

I could hurt him, I could make him feel pain beyond his worse imaginings. I could torment him endlessly, engulf him in despair and terror for the rest of his immortal days. All I would need is to look into his eyes, and he would be mine to do with whatever I wished.

I never used my power on him before. I didn't want to- but he never used his magic on me, either. I used my powers on my children often enough- a soothing calm for when Vahaya was screaming, or sleepiness when she wouldn't go to bed, a very strong unwillingness to ignore my commands. When I rewound time- I took the powers of time and I 'convinced' them to bring me back. I could do anything, if I wished. When I talked to the man with the poisoned blade I used my powers on him.

When Jareth found out I'd been talking to you...I took him into an oubliette and that was the first time I'd ever used my powers on him. I wasn't sure if it would even work.

It didn't have as strong an effect. I tried to erase the memory completely from his mind, but it failed, so instead I tried to convince him it didn't matter. He lost his anger at me, and from there it was simple for me to reignite the passion that usually fuelled his ability to forgive me.

I know that there will never be anyone else for me. How can I be with someone else, with everything that Jareth has given and taken from me?

I am still immortal. Would it truly be fair? I am stronger, faster, keener of sight and hearing, my skin is unusually sensitive, I am all but immune to disease, my body is incredibly flexible and strong. I am beautiful, I know this, can say it without being arrogant.

I will never be able to forget Jareth- especially not with his mark carved into the flesh of my left thigh as I did to him the day we pledged ourselves to one another forever. I may have broken apart the things that bound us mentally, but we were not just a mental couple, and the scar relates to the baser physical nature and world.

Maybe one day...

No.

No, I will never be able to forgive or forget what he has done to me, nor will I ever be able to forget everything he has done for me. Ours was a relationship that never was to be- born in spite to end in pain, and everything we had was just a perversion of fate. I was not meant for him, he was not meant for me...We never should have been.

But we were. My fate was not destined to interlink with his- his power is not anything that can be handled by a sane human as I have proved...so many times. If the ancient texts are correct...If the stone murals...The cave paintings...then it is entirely plausible he may have had a direct hand in this entire plane of existence's very creation. The separation, the splinter, the scion of the old world to a new one...

I am not suggesting he is a God, because we all know he is not. But it was he and his kind that possibly made this alternate reality from theirs. I am trying to convey the depth, the strength and complexity of this creature, the fantasy illusions of his character. Illusions. That is everything Jareth is, an illusion. What, with him, isn't an illusion? Is his character, a made up whim? His face, his body, is easily changed by a snap of his fingers, if he so wishes he doesn't even have to be male.

The sad truth is that even through all of this, I don't know him at all. He is entirely and truly unpredictable.

And I cannot trust anyone, because for all I know the man in the supermarket was him in disguise, or the drunk watching me in the alley as I walked towards the inn I am staying in. You have seen, perhaps you remember the tunnel scene wherein he set the Cleaners on me in the Labyrinth? He was fully a goblin and then he transformed into something else.

Do I just enjoy dancing with danger or is it some sense of suicidal impulse?

((())))

Oh God. I think I've turned into a ho.

That's twelve, now, last night. Twelve random guys I won't ever see again that have probably robbed me or given me some nasty disease. What is wrong with me?

Street people openly refer to me as the matron saint of night, dark plots, murder, intrigue, secret lusts and other shady things like that. But I am more purely worried about my scary ho-ishness. Twenty, thirty- I've slept with forty-two guys since I left my king!

By Danu. I'm definitely becoming more like Jenna. And...

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

I am an idiot.

I reek of magic. I reek of magic and of Jareth and of all things enchanting and wonderful while you humans are all pottering around on the earth being boring and good. And I was wondering why on earth so many people were hitting on me.

Maybe all those times I lay at Jareth's feet and drank his blood like some disgusting whore have finally caught up with me. He was good-looking though. Does being hot excuse you for being a monster?

I've never noticed before how breakable humans are. So deliciously frail. Blood tastes quite good, you know, if you have it fresh. F**k yes. Especially if it's not human. Dwarf blood. Faerie blood. But...oh, demon blood...is the comparative fine guy in a sea of uglies.

No. Not, Danu, not, anyone else. I used to be Christian, would you believe it? Frankly, Jareth wouldn't stand it. He broke my faith in Christianity far before he broke my spirit.

But if he ever comes near me again I'm mind-raping him so bad he won't be able to recognise his own goddamn nonexistent mother.

Yes, I'm drunk. Can you tell?


	33. Entry 33

I'm just gonna make something absolutely clear. I have no clue why her majesty is back doin the nasty with the rat but tellin you, I could smell the reek of iron and ale on her so bad it made me eyes water.

An I wouldn't even be speaking to ya horrible creatures, blimmin humans cant do anything right, if it weren't for a personal favour her most gracious majesty decided to call in. An even if she has gone batdung crazy, I honour me debts.

She tol me to tell you what happened. So, ere we are. Right then.

The rats mopin all angry and upset, like someones just tekkin the battrys out of him. She makes a wish, we all ear it from ere. Somfing like 'I wish my king would reveel himself to me' or somfin. He perks up, go finds er and the next we know, everyones telling us to get down in the basement and coal bunkers cos the king and queen are doing the nasty again.

I just oping that they aint having any more of them brats. Bloody creatures, blimmin unnatural. Slurpin up blood like its some kin of, of, I dunno, but somfin nyce.

Ach. Theyve been doin it all right, the flippin castles' wrecked. Only his _wonderful _majesty could make so much batdung mess wit one wuman. Destroyed the kitchen. Throne rooms done in, and i'm not gona even bother checkin the private wing.

Eard some screemin

Reckon that's Sarah discoverin er mistake nows she all sober like

An its Hoggle! Not thatd matter to you. Humans. Idiot weakbloods, lot of ya.


	34. Entry 34

May the shadows hide you and may you be blessed with fruit.

I express my deepest apologies for not updating you of my whereabouts yesterday. I am aware my note to Hoggle could be interpreted as a degrading act of my seducing my ex-husband. I did, but not for the purpose of which Hoggle has convinced you.

Once more I must apologise. The Underground is a land wherein prejudice thrives- trust me, I have had to deal with sordid jokes about Jareth apparently being into bestiality for the last thousand years. Extremely prejudiced, most likely faerie people, would insist that I wait outside, or suggest I am collared during council sessions or other formal occasions. The sad truth is many believe humans to be weak creatures with little will, overemotional toys to be enslaved and use however their masters saw fit. Humans with magic are treated little better- if they have the blood of Faekyn than they are debase abominations, mutations of faerie people and human people. 'Loose' humans, or humans without a master, are treated as worldwide whores.

I have done much to dispel this opinion in the Labyrinth. Men have often tried to insist their ideas and themselves upon me but I, with my talents, have always been quick to 'dissuade' them from trying ever again. My dear dwarven friend is, has never been, of this particular opinion, but he has, as you know, always been spectacularly grumpy. He hates to talk with people when he doesn't have to.

I was, admittedly, drunk. But that was more of a disguise for my actions than the reason for them.

I want to be queen again.

Not Jareth's queen, understand. That bastard is only useful for recharging my magic. Another 'fact' I only recently discovered.

If I go too long without allowing Jareth to 'recharge' me, then my body will start to sicken and die from magic deprivation. There are many ways to do this. I did not have on me the necessary things to extract his blood and filter what I needed and grind it with several other rare alchemical ingredients to create a potion, so my body instructed me what to do and I reacted. And then woke up several hours later feeling on top of the world- until I saw Jareth, whom I had apparently tied up before falling asleep.

Perhaps I should explain my symptoms to you, so that you may better understand my haste. First it was simply a headache, which developed into a migraine. My body began to lose its strength as I began to lose my appetite in all respects, food, or drink. I began to hallucinate Jareth, especially, but other Labyrinth creatures. I craved anything magical. Luckily, I found a goblin.

Clearly, the poor creature had been looking for me. She was distraught that her queen had gone. She saved my life. Only a day more in that cold, iron-sapping world you call home and I would have almost certainly died.

Just being in a magical creature's presence rejuvenated me enough to the goblin to drag me back into the sun-struck Underground. That goblin gave her life so I might live.

I stumbled to Hoggle's home and there, I recuperated. Eventually I discovered I needed more, the magic only a faerie lord would possess. So I travelled to the castle.

The second I looked into his eyes, I saw they were black. I saw the Darkness crawling over his snow-white skin. I saw the madness lurking around him like a shroud. I saw the dark power and I craved it. I was unable to control myself, I threw myself at him.

Every creature has a weak point. I have found Jareth's. Weakness. He hates to be weak, powerless.

So that is what he will become. I will gather my growing army and crush the Goblin Citadel. I will break the King, and reclaim what is mine.

Again.

And once I have it, then I will break Jareth, and I will kill those who are against me and enslave those I cannot.

Again.


	35. Entry 35

It is indeed the sweetest sounds to hear the screams of one who has tortured you for years, the most glorious revelation to know absolute dominion over your enslaver. To have broken the one creature who was ever capable of destroying you. To know- you are all but invincible, for no other could resist your powers. To know that forevermore will your enemy be locked in eternal torment, undying agony.

I apologise for not contacting you earlier but, as you can suspect I had much business to attend to. But I am sure you can assume success, obviously, as I am still writing to you under a sane mind instead of railing on about the glories of a faerie.

Only now am I so very glad I wasn't born a couple of decades earlier and am not in the Aboveground. Otherwise I would have certainly been burnt at the stake for the fate that befell my dear ex-husband.

But let's not jump ahead- this is a triumph to be savoured.

You know already how I made my way back Underground, and the goblin Athe's sacrifice so that I might live. I escaped from the Castle Beyond the Goblin City accompanied by Hoggle, Sir Didymus and other loyal creatures of mine. Ludo chose to remain behind. I did not blame the traitor. His mate died in the service of the King and Queen, she was a soldier, and he wanted nothing to do with our rebellion.

It rankled that my own friend chose the poisonous Oath-Breaker over me, but I understand. Well enough not to kill him, anyway.

Once free of the Castle we ran into the Labyrinth. She was overjoyed to know me once more- I am her Pathmaker after all, and though she may be devoted to her King I am still her Queen. Would you believe that traditionally Rulers are matriarchal? Women are easier to track Bloodlines through.

I gathered my forces together and planned my attack. It was perfect.

My troops and I stole back into the Goblin City in the dead of night. Of course, since my escape Jareth had armed the army and set guards around the city. They were little trouble for me. I simply had to look into their eyes and they were mine.

My own army fed by soldiers 'persuaded' from his, we made our way quickly through the fortified City to the Castle.

Here our job was the most difficult.

The battles were long and there were many casualties on both sides. Didymus was struck down, slashed from hip to hip. The armies were both hesitant to attack their own brothers and I believe that stopped a lot of the casualties.

But the blood was so much it ran down in gushing crimson streams from the steps of the castle. The darkness clung to us and stifled us- Jareth working his magic far above. The suffocating shrouds wrapped around our throats and mouths, killing hundreds. But he has forgotten my powers, too. And I would not have him decimate my troops when there is so much more fun to yet come.

So I took the Darkness and convinced it to turn against my demon. I heard the screams, the blood splashing against my skin, over my face, my teeth. I was an animal- I leapt forward, ripping out their throats with my hands and teeth. I must have looked insane to my soldiers, but that only made them love me more.

I am, after all, talking about a world of monsters.

It was bloody carnage when we finally forced our way into the castle. My troops charged straight forward whilst I took the side stairs to the Throne Room, where I knew Jareth would be.

He was there of course, dressed fully in his armour, holding a training sword in one hand and Ice in the other.

"Are you really going to try and fight me?" He asked, raising one eyebrow, as he threw the training sword at me.

I caught the stave with one hand. I could see the demon snarling inside him, he was barely in control. It was evident in the way he was trembling, just barely, how his eyes were as wide and dark as abysmal pits, how he couldn't quite keep his teeth from baring and his hands from twitching.

Have I ever mentioned he is about three-thousand times more alluring when he's losing control? Is it just because I'm addicted to danger?

Either way he was staring at me, but being very careful to avoid making eye contact.

"Of course not, my Lord," I purred. I was half-mad with battle-lust, you can hardly blame me for teasing him. "I was planning the opposite."

"Oh yes," he said, and his dark eyes gleamed in the way they do just before he's about to draw blood, "Run, so I can rip your back to shreds."

His words made me remember the times I would flee in desperation from his demonic form to the great cage beneath the Castle. I bared my teeth- my weak, blunt human teeth- back at him. "Please do," I replied, seeing his eyes narrow as he kept his gaze firmly away from my enchanting stare, "so I can turn right back around again and have you destroyed in a second."

"Destroy me?" He laughed, but it was just a little too wild for me to believe the fallacy that he was truly in control. Just being in my presence was eroding away at him. "Sarah, precious thing, you cannot destroy me any more than you can shift the stars."

"Maybe not," I hissed back venomously, "But I can break you."

And with that I opened my mouth and raised my voice in song.

Jareth was not expecting it. He fell to his knees, the seductive enchantments of my 'persuasive' gift catching him, trapping him.

With a cry of fury, he raised Ice and slashed through the bonds around him. Then he lunged at me, and we went down together in a tangle of limbs and scratching claws..

I grasped his head, holding him still while I stared into his eyes. He was struggling, but my enchanting was working. I was singing too, using the unshielded power of my voice, everything in my power and magic that makes me what I am.

His eyes grew hazy and his struggling began to subside. But it seemed even when I was winning he must be a thorn in my side, literally.

He stabbed me with Ice, the bastard. I nearly died, if it hadn't been for Jareth's attentive care. Once I had enchanted him, he was mine, fully and truly, completely.

I made him heal me, and then conjure some clothing for the both of us. He'd Turned some time whilst I was enchanting him- I was slashed to pieces. One of these days I am just going to have to file away his claws. He's far too vicious with them.

I had him publicly whipped- one hundred and sixty lashes- then left chained outside the Castle for the public to do with what they would. But first I had him bound with iron and lay an enchantment over himself so that he would not scar. I had no wish for flawed skin.

When we brought him back in the castle, he was beaten, bloody, but still, outrageously, defiant. May he burn forever, but he never gives up.

I was not finished with him yet, though. I had his tongue removed and his ears put out, so that no longer may he seek joy and comfort in the one thing he enjoys most- music- and live forever in a silent and cold world. Then I took his face in my hands once more and I broke his spirit.

From there it was simple to command him to murder the traitors in my Castle. Around his neck he wears an iron collar to show his slavery, and when he is not doing a job for me I keep him chained like a dog.

He is practically an animal. He is savage and completely wild, and sometimes it is quite delightful to see the expressions on the proud faeries faces as they see the Great Goblin King so humbled before them.

In one instance my neighbour came to me, Queen of the Forest. Jareth was chained to my throne, curled up at my feet. But when the other queen entered he immediately hissed and lunged at her. The chain snapped short and yanked him back, but he was growling and hissing like a snarling sabrecat. She was dismayed, and terrified at him.

He's quite helpful as well, when I get frustrated I only have to pull his hair and hear him yelp and look at me like a kicked puppy immediately restores my humour.

I feed him only the drugged peaches he is so fond of slipping me. The irony. I keep him in his demon form- his intelligence has always been lower whilst in beast form. He would be as loyal to me in either, but I prefer the beast. It is good to remind the other folk of the horrific truth of what he really is, and to be brutally honest he is somewhat endearing as a gigantic fanged monster.

As for the brats, there only remains few. Jareth the Younger, the only remnant of my Toby, was so confused. He was quite insane, the poor thing, and had no idea what he was doing when he stood in my way. Jareth must have scrambled his brains.

I have no use for a mad thing. But it seems the very cursed blood that runs through his veins saves him. He Turned just as I was about to decapitate him, and once I had fit a collar around his neck to stop him Turning back to human form again, he can be quite useful.

As for the rest, only Talulah, Jenna and Juhaka were sane enough for me to bother with. They live and serve me. The rest rot in the ground.

Unsurprisingly, I am the most popular ruler the Underground has ever seen. Something about seeing the tyrant brought low does that.

I would refuse that, sheniyag! I have never sounded like that murderous traitor! The only reason I won the Labyrinth was because it suited the Goblin King's ends. He desired me and as such lead me into a false sense of security- were it not for the protective charms that had lingered about me from my sibyl mother he would have succeeded long before. I loved those disgusting abominations only when I was deluded by the Oath-Breaker's magics. I despise them.

Oh, and trust me, there will be changes. The Underground will be purged of all the demon halfling bastards still in existence. I need not worry about power. Jareth is my servant, and his strength is that to move the stars. He could have obliterated me in a second any time he wished, but he never did, because it is through his own delusion of self-grandeur and egotism he falls. I would not allow myself to become ensnared in the same vile trap.

Now all I need is to solidify my claim on the throne in accordance to the Old Ways. Unfortunately for Jareth, that involves blood-letting. The ceremony is quite simple. I will slash my wrist and shed blood over the ancient stones of the Labyrinth and I will force Jareth to do the same. The blood mixes together, and then I will drink it. This makes me once more Jareth's mate and wife. Then, simply, I broke his connection to the Labyrinth.

Exceedingly painful for him, simple for me.

It was quite entertaining, watching him thrash about in agony at the complete desolation of being alone, without the familiar touch of his beloved labyrinth in the corner of his mind. Knowing that the Goblin King was the original creator of the Labyrinth in his solitude.

If he weren't so powerful, I would dispose of him. But as it is, he is useful to me, so I keep him around. In his beast form, though, obviously. He's like a furnace. With him curled up at the bed of the bed I never have to worry about getting cold feet.

**Deaf, mute, broken, whipped, beaten, chained, enslaved, kept in animal form, the Goblin King clearly knows how to pick them, doesn't he? I don't know if you guessed, but she's smirking at that last couple of sentences. She's joking, people, OK?**


	36. Entry 36

How amusing.

It seems that you, HyborianQueen, sympathise with the demonspawn. I ask you, why?

It is alive, is it not? I continue to allow it to murder innocents for the sake of its own twisted bestial needs. I tolerate its madness for the body in which it resides- for if it were not a demon I would have executed it. Why should I feel any fondness for a creature that attempted to enslave me once more under Jareth's rule? I detest it. It is a stain on the purity of existence. I will wipe out all demonkind, have them rounded up and killed like animals to slaughter.

It is true, demonflesh is unusually tender. The father has been feasting on his children's flesh for the last week, he would agree with me. Maybe I should just roast the Younger, but sadly I don't think there is a spit strong enough to hold its massive weight.

It keeps badgering me to give you a message. The thing is insane.

Read it.

_Máistir Puppets, tigherna an chluiche,_

_Ár thighearna dorcha, ár n-Dia meabhair,_

_Ba chóir riamh Bow a cheann i náire,_

_Black Dia, diabhail dia, chaos a dhia._

_Déanfaidh máistir puipéid láidir sin,_

_Is féidir aon cheann defeat agus ní ba chóir riamh,_

_Do eons éis dó rialú a agus féadfaidh sé rialú a thabhairt go fóill ar fad,_

_Ní féidir Mad dia a tamed, ní bheidh aon d'fhéadfadh riamh._

_Ach le laige de mhian ba chóir dó titim,_

_Chun spéirbhean leis na súile cosúil le nathair,_

_Go gairid a bheith i gceannas ar Halla mór Bás, An_

_Lest an cinneadh ceart a dhéanamh air._

_Ach ar ndóigh go mainneoidh sé,_

_Puipéid máistir a bheith Wed_

_Is de bhunadh A temptress ón ironworld,_

_Beidh tarraing an freewill uaidh go dtí go bhfuil sé marbh._

_Siren, seductress, Aphrodite beannaithe,_

_Go leor-fear ceann a bhí messed a bhronntanas,_

_Le titim i ngrá leis an fuaim fealltach._

_Ach beidh madness lurk ina chroí,_

_Agus bhfeice fester ina inchinn,_

_Maidir leis an chaos raibh an máistir puipéad thosú,_

_Agus a mhallacht di, go bhfuil pian ag gol._

_Is é an máistir puipéad briste, tamed,_

_Táimid ag pianbhreith a bheidh leis an marbh,_

_Ag a cosa beidh sé bréag náiriú,_

_Ceangailte le slabhraí an chroí agus slabhraí an ceann._

_Beidh sí reiligiún fervent sweep faoi thalamh,_

_Ní bheidh aon a shábháil, beidh chaosblood bás_

_Dóite, thug íseal, strung suas ar ard._

_Ach má sí teacht ar an méid buille faoi thuairim an dá linn,_

_Beidh sí ag dul ar tú, agus tú go léir a mharú,_

_Go mbeidh daoine chaosblood ach ní_

_Ansin tú bréag freisin i Bás Halla._

_Beidh sí Fury agus cumhacht sweep an saol,_

_Beidh bacainní a bhriseadh agus beidh fola amach,_

_Beidh an Tríú Domhan a bheith scaoilte agus go léir le haghaidh ceann amháin cailín,_

_Gealtacht agus dhochoiscthe ag baint leis, shout uafásach._

He is insane! The idiot, when I had him Turned back into human stood them for the longest time trying to adjust to being human, and then just stared at me when I commanded him to speak. He is as much as a deadglow as his father. And what language is that anyway? I can never understand Jareth or the demonspawn when they speak that strange, twisted thing.

Speaking of which, I must ride to the High Court and show the faeries his defeat. I will destroy all those with demonblood...And those who shelter them, and once their job is done I will end their tainted race and finally kill Jareth and his bastard spawn.

Only then will I rest, only then will I finally be able to give in to that darkness that calls me...


	37. Entry 37

How foolish do you believe I am, girl? Of course I would not give up the filth to you! Even in his delinquent madness he is still far stronger and easily able to overcome any mortal, and all weak fey. He is a good pawn, but a pawn I will throw aside when I need him no longer. Deceive me you may attempt, but I promise you, you shall fail. He is too devoted to me. They all are.

Have you perhaps forgotten, dear Hyborian_Queen, _that my power lies in seduction and mind-magic? They all obey me without the slightest question, I have no doubts of their loyalty. But for the younger.

He is worrying, to say the least. But should he attempt to try anything I shall have his father gut him before he can even speak. No mercy is deserved for such ugly, evil creatures.

Artseblis, you whom are falsely hopeful. My light was destroyed by the Oath Breaker's magic. And I should destroy him.

I will purge the Worlds of all demon filth. Then no one can suffer at their hands as I did. I will use the most powerful of their race, their Lord, Jareth, and with him at my side it should be easy to defeat and break them. Then I will dispose of my pawns.  
Maybe I shall keep my 'husband'. It is probably just a remnant of his trickery but I find him oddly endearing in his beast form. He may not have the razor-sharp wit and acerbic tongue, but I find it easier to deal with him when he cannot talk back and does not care to communicate verbally. Demons in their natural forms are much like wolves, only larger and much more powerful, obviously.

For that matter, have you ever kissed a demon? It is a curious sensation. Their teeth are so very sharp, so delightfully sharp, that he slashes the sides of my mouth open. The blood will run down my neck and I will follow his eyes as he stares at the blood- eventually he will be able to take it no more and will lunge for my throat.

I always enjoy provoking him. Forcing him to lose control has always been more pleasurable than I would ever admit.

And this day has surely been very good. I attended the ridiculous Ball yesternight. I was forced to ride my husband the entire way there, I had no qualms, he is extremely fast, and only the rest of the 'pack' could keep up.

You should have seen their faces!

I walked in, dressed in a dark claret gown, that was far more suited to my temperament than the airy-fairy puffy ballgowns Jareth had me in before. With my magic full into me, saturating my skin, they couldn't keep their eyes off me. And if it hadn't been for the great demon snarling at my side, their hands, I would imagine.

Around his neck was his collar, a painful black contrast to his long white mane. He was hissing angrily at any fae that dared come close, and his tail was whipping back and forth like a displeased cat. He was clearly nervous, but I calmed easily enough with a touch. Like a dog he followed me.

Standing on his back legs, which he is capable of doing, but rarely does so, he stands to about seven foot. But fully bowed on his all fours, he is up to my midsection. If he so wished it he could kill everyone in the room, including me, in less than fifteen minutes if it suited him. But he is mine.

At last the Council tentatively suggested I Turn him back. It was even more ridiculous watching Jareth, back to his human form but no less demon, crouching at my side, hissing, snarling, clawing and scratching at anyone who came too close. But the fight instinctively melts out of him when I touch him. At my order, he falls instantly silent.

It takes a little while for his mind to wake up as it once was, but even then, standing fully erect and as darkly intelligent and imposingly tricky as he is in his human form, he remained mine. My servant. At all times, all of my little entourage remained slightly behind me, and made no eye contact with anyone. Apart from Jareth, of course, who challenged anyone who dared approach 'his'.

I like it, actually. Possessiveness has always been one of Jareth's traits. But in his human form, it was lecherous and pathetic. In his true, it is different.

This is insane.

We are all insane, pain is my only wish...As ever he grants me my heart. I am no longer light and pure like I was before- dark, torture, suffering, that is my pleasure now. I feel no joy in the sight of newborns, or the burgeoning flowers of spring, only a remembrance wistfully of winter, of autumn, the seasons of death and of dying.

As I have become darker, corrupted, as has my fairytale king. No longer now is he a beautiful but villainous Goblin King to steal away my brother, tempt me, and trick me to prevent me from gaining my little brother. No longer is he a brutal, dominating master, vicious and forceful, to break my spirit. No longer is he a gentle and caring man with love in his heart and desperation in his eyes. No longer is he them. No, now he is wild, free, rough, angry, an animal.

...how I wish I could be one too.

...how I wish I could be ruled so utterly I have no free will or thought of my own...how I wish it was I who howled irrepressibly at the moon, waking my master each night, but with playfulness in my black eyes.

...damn you. This is why I fucking hate faeries.

They're like drugs.

Take them once, and you're hopelessly addicted for the rest of your life.


	38. Entry 38

As I write this, my hands scream in pain, and thick blood oozes out of the white bandages around them. It's still red, you know. My blood.

It hurts to even move them, but I won't stop. The pain is shockingly pleasant.

And I wear my war wounds with honour. It was my own fault in getting them and I take full, delicious responsibility. I wonder how long it will take me to push him like that again?

My little ploy is quite simple, really. I simply took another man to my bed. Jareth was so outraged he Turned, and immediately began slaughtering anyone or anything. As soon as he did so I disposed of the man- the vapid idiot was useful only until Jareth Turned- and wetted my hair.

When the Council's men came to sort things out, they found I, fresh from a bath and completely innocent, and the bloodthirsty rampaging demon.

My popularity has been quite raised, and I have all the permission I need to slaughter any demons I may find in any kingdom. After the demon stain has been wiped out, then none from the Courts will have the strength to oppose me with Jareth at my side. Simplicity in itself- the Underground is mine.

I would have been content to leave the Aboveground alone- but what is this! DEMONS, walking in the streets of my homeland!

Surely this is some sick mockery! I will purge everyone, everything, of the foul demonblood that corrupts us! None shall suffer as I had to at the hands of the chaosblooded! I will kill you, firerock- your blood shall spill the black filth that it is!

But first I will torture you, and you will watch as the pathetic excuses for _things _that pass as your family and friends die before you, and their bodies defiled and cast aside and burnt with old ashes like dung, to ensure fully that never shall their be that rank vileness that passes as demonkind!  
I WILL NOT CONDONE IT!  
I will kill them! I will kill them ill kill you all you bastards ill murder you ill kill you il kill you ill kill you just you wait you filthy demons ill kill you all

**OK. I would just like to say that Sarah's views are not my own and the authoress reserves her own opinion. I do not happen to think anyone has 'filth' for blood! And sorry she goes a little cray-cray, but hey...**


	39. Entry 39

**I'm sorry this is all in Irish! Here, this is a good translator, the one I use, /translation/irish/to-english/translation/ **

Mar sin, ar deireadh labhairt againn.

B'fhéidir nach duine le duine, ach ansin arís, is é sin go deimhin don chuid is fearr, ag smaoineamh dá mo nádúr-agus mise. Gan aon dabht tá tú ag wondering le mo aitheantais, ach amháin má tá na smarter bhur measc a bhfuil cheana féin inkling. Ach chun críche chaint soiléir, a thabhairt liom mo teideal, mar a bhí tú uair amháin, creidim, ar an eolas leis. Tá mé an créatúr roimhe seo an Rí Goblin, cé gur féidir a fhios agat dom níos fearr as do chomhfhreagras roimhe seo le mo Soul mar Jareth.

Tá cuid de tú, ar a léamh go mbeidh, muster láithreach fuath laistigh de do chroí. Ní ba mhaith liom begrudge tú an loathing, mar a rinne mé i bhfad chun dea-thuilleamh, ach ní a thabhairt duit. Tá sé barrúil conas mar sin daoine eile breitheamh go leor sula mbeidh siad le chéile fiú iad. Cé mhéad de tú go raibh mé síos mar a monster, rapacious heartless a taitneamh as an scrios daoine eile thar gach rud eile?

Ní bheidh mé i gcéill go bhfuil pléadáil chun maithiúnas do mo bhotúin, agus botúin a bhí siad. Tá mo Soul labhartha i gcónaí de dom mar fear prideful, nach bhfuil sí? Agus ba mhaith leat gur ghlac sí focal mar dlí? Tar éis seo?

Tá tú ag feiceáil mo Soul ar thaobh an scéal, conas a bhí sí sciob agus seilg cruálach, conas a manipulated mé agus iallach uirthi, conas a bhris mé uirthi ar feadh mo chúiseanna Petty agus selfish féin. Ní ba mhaith liom a shéanadh é. Ach ba mhaith liom a thairiscint mo thuairim.

An chuid is mó, más rud é nach go léir, a bheidh toilteanach go dtí an pointe disgust a chur san áireamh cad a scríobh mé anseo. Ach ba mhaith liom rabhadh duit a choinneáil i gcuimhne go bhfuil tú chuala an scéal ó mo Soul a liopaí crazed, agus go fírinneach dÚsachtach í. Conas is féidir i bhfad níos mó liom a bheith?

I tús a chur leis ag rá ach an-agam nach bhfuil scríofa an gcuntas seo do mhaithe. Scríobh mé sé sin mo chuid fola-deartháireacha agus deirfiúracha-, a bheidh i Bás ar glacadh, a cuimhní cinn a tarnished trí misinterpretation agus adhartha twisted. Ar an ábhar sin is é an méid atá mo Soul ar thiomantas chun bheith ina fervor lúbtar reiligiúnach a infects uirthi gach smaoinimh. Tá sé saddening agus fós ar an eolas dom. Meabhraíonn sí i bhfad dom féin nuair a bhí ag Athrú mé.

Beidh mé ag tosú, ansin, roimh thús, le mo Soul máthair, Belinda Williams. An t-ainm 'Belinda', ciallaíonn 'nathair álainn', agus bhí sí cinnte ag an. Bhí sí ar cheann de mo seirbhísigh beag ar an domhan mortal. Bhí muid gar, gar go leor mar lovers. Bhí sé seo roimh bhuail sí an fear a fathered sí a bheadh ag fás a bheith ar mo Soul. Aon uair a thug mé cuairt ar an domhan mortal, ba mhaith liom dul go dtí a. Bhí sí dílis ach dom. Bhí sí beagnach cara dom. Ní bheadh mé a admháil air ansin, chreid mé go mortals a bheith fírinneach níos lú ná faekyn agus daemakyn, demons.

Ach bhí sí, agus bhí mé an chuid is mó possessive a, an duine a raibh mé in ann muinín. Ní blameable go hiomlán de dom, bhí mé ar aird i saol wherein mbeadh aon nó a d'fhéadfadh a mharú dom ar mo throne agus cumhacht.

Mar sin, nuair a fuair sí a fear, mo Soul athair, agus thosaigh sé caidreamh leis, bhí mé obscenely éad agus infuriated. A thuiscint go chonaic mé é mar insult uaigh go mbeadh sí ag dul ag lorg le haghaidh eile mortal-, mar sin féin! - Nuair a bhí sí liom a siamsaíocht léi ar mo fóillíochta. Ach cad mo Soul oscail mo shúile chun gur lorg Linda cad nach raibh mé in ann a thabhairt di, a ghrá. Raibh mé in ann a thabhairt di riches, raibh mé in ann a thabhairt di cumhacht, raibh mé in ann a thabhairt di neamhbhásmhaireachta má roghnaíonn liom sin, d'fhéadfadh liom a dhéanamh ar a saol blissful ó thús go deireadh má roghnaíonn liom sin, ach ní raibh grá di liom.

Mar sin, bhí ar siúl Linda ar shiúl. Nuair a fuair sí mo Fury ar a agus a fear céile nua, a úsáidtear sí trappings de mo chumhachtaí féin a bhaint as teagmháil leathnú agus dlúth le dom-, mar shampla mo Soul Tá recieved, cé go den chineál éagsúla- úsáid sí iad do bharda i gcoinne dom. Samhlaigh mo ire nuair a fuair mé go raibh urchosc sí orm-sí, a mortal! Ach bhí sí bacainní ró-láidir, mar sin bhí gach raibh mé ag breathnú, agus fan. Bhí sí ag iompar clainne.

An leanbh a rugadh go sábháilte agus ainmníodh sí Sarah i gcomhréir leis an Bealaí Sean go raibh mhúin mé léi. Warded sí an leanbh, a chosc mo interceding, lest ba chóir an páiste mian go sonrach le haghaidh mo láthair. Linda raibh aon amadán, fhios aici go lá amháin d'fhéadfadh sí nó a hiníon a bheith ag teastáil cabhair a fháil ó dom, agus má bhí sé ar an saol nó staid bás nach raibh sí ag iarraidh Sarah beag faoi urchosc ó an ceann amháin a d'fhéadfadh a cabhrú léi.

Ach ní raibh Linda chomhaireamh ar rud amháin. Bhí a obsession, is gá léi as itear faekyn léi, surely agus ní go hiomlán amhail is dá mba níos mó ná aon andúil drugaí. Amú sí ar shiúl agus a fuair bás le bás go luath, agus Sarah Ní raibh a fhios faoi na contúirtí a iarraidh. Agus mar atá a fhios agat ... raibh sí a dhéanamh ar mian leo.

Theastaigh sí ar dtús le haghaidh a deartháir Tobias a bheidh le glacadh ar shiúl. Níos déanaí, ba mhian léi don chompánachas. Comhluadar thug mé léi i bhfoirm a linbh den chéad uair. Ní raibh mé ag iarraidh an leanbh a bheith míchumtha mar a bhí sé, ach Deineadh mé é a mian go bás. Bhí sé ag iarraidh go bás. Ghuigh sé ina chroí, bhí a fhios aige go raibh cúis a theacht ar an pian an dá linn.

Cad cuimhin mo Soul níos déanaí mar am torturous de nochtadh dom an méid de mo Cruelty agus nádúr demonic a bhí i ndáiríre ach a mourning crazed féin a mac marbh. Tríd an scáthán twisted a madness, tháinig sí chun an milleán dom.

Faoi dheireadh, bhí a fhios agam go raibh sé don chuid is fearr a ghlacadh a cuimhní uaithi, agus lig beo di a saol faoi shíocháin. Ach ní raibh bargained mé ar rud amháin. Bhí tús curtha aici le Athrú. Ní raibh mé a fhágáil youngling ag Athrú, sin, ghlac mé léi mar mo bhean chéile agus d'fhoghlaim chun grá di. An Athrú, tús curtha cheana féin a máthar, lean i bhfad níos moille i mo Soul. Le déanaí, tá tú ag féachaint ar sé éifeachtaí. Ag streachailt chun rialú a dhéanamh an foréigean a temper, bouts an buile confaidh, cruálachta dÚsachtach. Fiú go bhfuil a gcuma fisiciúil tús a Athrú. Tá a cuid gruaige streaked leis go bhfuil óir agus ceann de na súile álainn, ar an drochuair, fading le donn dull.

Go gairid go leor beidh mé in ann a duillín thar an Tríú Domhan, agus beidh mo siúlóid ar na domhain a bheith os cionn. Ach beidh mé ag teastáil athsholáthair, agus a níos fearr ar oidhreacht de Cruelty agus terror demonic eile seachas mo defeater amháin a dhéanamh?

Ah, beidh mé ag guí a bhfaighidh mé bás sula bhfuil a Athrú. Ceann de mo bhfuil go leor leor do na populace, agus dhá, tá an pobal bursting ag an seams na Dhá shaol. Tá mé ach a dhéanaí i thógáil ársa creideamh olc, agus beidh mo Soul n-éireoidh liom.

Ach go leor de seo ... Níl sé mo áit chun an todhchaí thaispeáint duit, chreiche milis, ach go simplí chun nimhe do chuid smaointe agus bhur gcroí sway do temptation mar turas tú i dtreo é.

Táille ort go maith, ansin, d'fhéadfadh cairde mo Soul, agus do chreiche a dtagann go tapa agus a gcuid fola a reáchtáil go tapa.

_A Shoilse Tiarna Jareth, Rí na goblins, Tiarna na Labyrinth, Máistir Daemakyn, Rí a Soilse an Bhanríon Sarah, Seaimpín an Labyrinth_


	40. Entry 40

I caoineadh. Chun más rud é nach féidir leat a heed mo focail, tá tú caillte go fírinneach. Agus ba chóir cén fáth nach Tagraím do leat mar mo chreiche? Tá mé an Hunter deiridh de gach rud. Agus mo chreiche ar fad, go bhfuil daoine is mó meas agus grá de mo chuid. Ní féidir liom a ligean orthu gur rud éigin nach bhfuil mé. Mo Soul milis a dhéanann go fóill. Troideanna sí dosheachanta. Tá gach duine tú lómhara mar an gcéanna. Tá gach saol a bheith caillte stór briste, agus tá sé ag dul thar mourned, nach mbreathnaítear mar trócaire cothromaíochta den saol.

Mar a pas a fháil sa lá, fhionnadh sí an shades nua cruálachta fuath, rage agus barbaric sí ag éirí. Agus teacht liom ar comhardú trom ag fás mé féin níos laige. Lá amháin, beidh sí éileamh a oidhreacht trí dom agus beidh mé céimnithe. Ansin, beidh do mian leo a dheonú, agus cuirfidh sé nua Goblin Rialóir suí ar an ríchathaoir. Beidh gatekeeper nua féachaint ar an Veil. Beidh Máistir nua Daemakyn chun cinn. A uasal nua an Labyrinth, rialóir nua an bháis.

Sweet, Sarah neamhchiontach ... Mo dhearmad a bhí ag ligean duit a maireachtáil. Ba chóir dom a mharaigh tú i láthair na huaire a chonaic mé do chroí. Ní raibh do cinniúint chun a fháil amach ar domhan nua, ach chun é a dhéanamh. Mar a rinne mé...

Mar a rinne mé, mo ghrá, is féidir liom a ghlaonn tú go bhfuil, beidh tú riail, idir álainn agus gránna, oighreacha agus fiery, éadrócaireach, éadrócaireach, mar sin éadrócaireach an-... I tú a chonaic mé ar deireadh mo chomharba ... mo comhionann.

Tá sí caillte agat, chreiche milis, grámhara chreiche, a cailleadh gach rud mar a bhí mé. Is cuimhin liom ar éigean a bhí mé roimh ... Sula Changed mé ... Sula bhfuair mé oidhreacht olc sin d'aois roimh sé gach universes ...

Wonder agam go mbeidh, do sliocht a bheith ann, ag breathnú, ag cuimhneamh ar conas a úsáidtear Sarah a bheith? Ní féidir liom cuimhneamh ar mo ainm. An t-ainm a bhí agam roimhe seo. Thóg mé Jareth nuair a unlocked mé an savagery fíor mo nádúr.

Lurks an fuar an bháis timpeall an chúinne ... Ach tá sé aon eagla dom. Tá mé aon anam, mortals. Go raibh cén fáth nach féidir liom a maraíodh. Sin é an fáth a bhí mé remorselessly olc. Ach bhí Sarah, Sarah neamhchiontach, go leor do bheirt againn. Mé gur theip ar triumphed sí thar dom, agus don chéad uair, bhraith mé aiféala i coldness, mo Cruelty, mo fuath, mo paisean oighreata. Agus mar a shábháil sí liom, doomed sí í féin.

Chun mór a bheith ann i gcónaí duine éigin ar an Throne Goblin ... Ní mór a bheith ann i gcónaí olc, temptation, sin ...

... Tá sé ag éirí sí liom, mortals ... mar bhfaighidh mé bás, féach mé níos mó de féin i gach lá í...

Bhí a gruaig mar ór sníofa, a súile, ceann dubh, ceann lightening i dtreo bán. Bhí a Cruelty, a savagery, a taint unmistakable. Tá sí ag chailliúint a anam, tá sé ag éirí sí liom ...

Tá a cuid cumhachtaí Siren ach an tús cad is féidir liom a dhéanamh. Tá sí ag éirí níos cumhachtaí. Tá tú aon rogha. Ní mór duit ach. Ní féidir liom a shábháil ... ní féidir léi a shábháil ... Ní féidir tú a shábháil ... is é an Cruinne, a chur féin i comhardaithe.

Revel mé sa scriosadh fiú amháin mar a ghrain agam é. Tá mé dubh. Tá mé Jareth. Tá mé ag fáil bháis.

Tá sí Dark, ag éirí níos dorcha gach lá. Beidh sí ag maireachtáil. Tá a anam ag fáil bháis.

I caoineadh.


	41. Entry 41

**The last part is in latin.**

_Laughing wild, shouting free, he knows his time is close to be, like a summer he will fall, but now bright beautiful fleeting he stands tall._

Grá. Tá sé fada ó shin go bhfuil duine éigin cúisí dom mothú ghrá. Ach is é sin cad a scrios dom. Níl mé i gceist a ghrá, ach rinne mé, rud a theip orm. Is é mo fuinnimh ag dul in éag. Go gairid, beidh mé a thuilleadh a bheith in ann caint leat….

_For proud is the faery prince, dancing among his maiden ring, till the clock should strike thirteenth hour, and then to the devil shall go the king's power._

I barely managed to steal this damn thing off that monster earlier. I apologize for the scribbling- honestly, what does that horrific language mean? But you would know, wouldn't you, you sick demons? I've already obliterated half the Underground, purged them. I have power you could not comprehend! I'll kill everything. No, no, I'll keep some of you alive, so I can torment you forever. Immortality is boredom on its own, after all, and what better use for eternal life than tormenting your foes? Damn- I have business I must attend to- I will be back.

_Till then he will laugh and play, the joyful tune of early May, and night longing there shall be in his eyes, as he amuses the child, its insistent cries._

Mortals! Tá sé mé arís, an Prionsa goblin. Tá sí dÚsachtach. Tá a Slánaitheoir amháin Bás, ach ní mór go mbeadh daema! Mo mortals beloved, ní mór duit troid an t-amhras i do aigne ... Creidim go bhfuil muid fíor, creidim i dom! Ná Creidim i Cruelty, ina. Fola fola! Beidh an Daemakyn troid. Féadfaidh sí a bheith ar ár Whisper Dark nua ach ní mór a chruthú di féin í. Finvarra fhios seo! Finvarra, mo athair ... ag fáil bháis sé. Ach beidh sé bás i bua.

_Gone taken pulled away, his soul is gone his heart is to pay, it as left he is empty now, you beat cruelty and hated temptation itself how?_

I want to kill. A nursery rhyme contains so much savagery. But this is the spawn of demons. Daemakyn! They call themselves. The Faekyn will not stand for this. Blood will out. And then yours. And Aboveground will run with your pain.

**Nos would plango vos tamen nostrum lacrima would exsisto attero. Nos would diligo vos tamen nostrum pectus pectoris could non recipero vestri obscurum. Nos would contemno vos tamen vestri decor est quoque fervidus futurus abominor. Nos would iuguolo vos tamen nos could non iuguolo ourselves. Vos es a secui nostrum , quod nos partum vos gave vos vultus , quod accersitus vos Malum.**


	42. Entry 42

He's dead. I found his body, human, with his sword through his heart. I thought nothing could kill Death. I was wrong.

He was even paler than he had been in life, wintry white, almost. His hair was limp and faded yellow instead of the bright gold it should have been. His eyes- no longer were they dark black, but very clearly, one blue, one brown. As if the mystery surrounding his eyes has been torn away. They were glazed, and dull, there was no sparkle, no glint of fire, no shining of endless stars within that dead gaze. His face was somber and sad, grave. It didn't seem right on him. He was wearing the usual clothes he wore, but Ice was still stuck through him, and his shirt was silver from his own blood. Frost had formed around the stab wound. Ice's blade is eternally cold.

He's gone. He's dead. Why is he gone? He was supposed to last forever. Why did he do it? Why did he kill himself?

Hollow. Contempt. ...Guilt. ...Numb...

This wasn't how I expected I would feel if he died. Which he wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to live forever, with me.

_Alone._

And I would always...always know that I was better. That no matter what I did...I wasn't as bad as him.

I remember when I was a little girl and I was scared of the monsters under the bed. And my father would come and tuck me in, and the fears would vanish, because he was there.

I've never been on my own before.

There was always my father, or Jareth, or anyone else- _why does it feel wrong to say his name?- _but now there is no one.

I am right...I was right. Daemakyn shouldn't exist.

But I wanted to keep him. Does that make me evil? Am I evil? There's no hope for me. You said it yourself. I'm a monster. I should just kill myself too. I'm just as demonic as him, even though my blood wasn't black and my heart does beat.

After all, we're all going to die. He was supposed to defeat Death but he just gave in. When I look in the mirror it's a mocking reminder of his face. When I use my magic it's a mocking reminder of his powers. Powers he used to safeguard me.

I tremble all the time. There's a coldness settled deep within me I can't oust. I feel too big for my skin. I feel like I'm going to explode into a ferocious thing of hatred and pain. I don't want to. I'm scared. Yes, you read that. I'm as scared as hell.

Mock me, why don't you! But he's gone and I'm on my own. Go on. Torture me while I'm weak. Hurt me while I'm so cold.

I'm alone. He's gone. I'm alone.

The one thing I thought would always be there is gone.

Dead.

Cold.

Empty.

_Hollow._

Just like me.


	43. Entry 43

I killed him. So I must die.

I killed my children. But I can't die twice.

I have no soul.

I watched it fly away this morning.

It was black.


	44. Entry 44

It's surprisingly easy, not having a soul.

I feel nothing at all. Not dead. Not empty. Not hollow. Just nothing.

Maybe I should amend my first sentence. It is not surprising. Nothing is surprising. I find it difficult to remember my emotion. I remember I was distraught when I saw his dead face.

I feel only a vague sense of discomfort now.

I am detatched from the world. I do not care, in truth.

We returned to the Goblin Kingdom. I found Jareth's journal. There was a note in it, detailing where I could find his other ones. It also said,

"_You may blame yourself for my death, but it wasn't you. One of us couldn't live while the other survived, and I was stronger than you. If I had stayed, the magic within us both would have forced me to kill you. I have lived my life and chosen my choices, my time here is done. But yours is only beginning. I knew it when I first saw you that you would be the one. It had to have been you. My successor. _

_I am not proud of what I did to you but understand this please, it was necessary for you. The magic has to be able to release. And for that my dear, you needed to be veritably insane, and certifiably dark. I expect you lost your soul recently. You will live a hollow life, my love, but over time you will regain your passion and you will learn how to take an interest in the world again._

_The change is complete in you. My Sarah, I am proud of you. It hurts that I will never see you grow into the role I have filled for too long, but even the universe must refresh itself sometimes. Nothing lasts forever, and if you remember, forever is not long at all. I had it and now you will._

_I love you. Maybe in some years you'll look back and wish I had written more, but I know that it is so much waste of ink on paper to you now. Whoever thought I would die of a broken heart?_

_Remember who you were Sarah, remember I loved you._

_Jareth"_

It seemed he never found his name. I may have once thought it tragic, Jareth's struggle through the millennium to remember himself. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and Jareth had power.

I changed for the first time, yesterday. It seems it is not as I thought. Demon blood cannot be passed through bloodline. They call me a new name now. It means evil. I suspect Jareth meant evil in the tongue he spoke when he was young, before he changed.

I rule the Goblin Kingdom, but I don't care about their welfare. I am detached.

My soul was black.

I watched it fly away only yesterday morning.

My heart was broken.

It stopped beating.

I was angry.

So I changed.

And now I'm calm, so now I won't.


	45. Entry 45

It's eerie, watching her, in all truth. She doesn't smile, she doesn't laugh, she doesn't look sad and she doesn't grieve. She is just blank, blank as an empty page.

My apologies, friends, this is Jareth. The younger, of course.

I have taken it upon myself to force her to continue living. She just doesn't care. She'd sit and stare out the window and eventually she'd waste away and die.

And I love her, and I wouldn't let that happen.

I have always felt more of a connection to my mother than any of my other siblings. But it is only now upon my father's death that I realise how much. My love for her is more than that of a brother for a sister or a child for their mother, a sort of unbreakable enduring tolerance. I could not grow bored, or upset, or unhappy with her, because every one of her infinite flaws is completely open to me and I am infinitely forgiving.

I have grown into my powers, and I have you to thank for that. You were there, all the way through our tumultuous journey. My mother will eventually regain her sanity, but she will never be the girl she once was. And I am greatly changed also. My siblings, most of them, are dead. I am one of the few left.

I have become an empath. I did not mean to be so, but I did. I no longer Change, also. I no longer feel the need.

Maybe one day we will meet among the mortal world, and I will smile, raise my hand and bless you, for if it were not for you than we would have never survived. We owe you a lifedebt, and a lifedebt is a powerful thing, especially from a Faekyn.

I guess this is goodbye from all of us, then. I do not want to end our correspondence, but in honesty I feel it is wrong to continue writing to you. My mother spoke to you out of necessity and of need, and that is forgiveable. You are both of the same race. No matter what her face resembled, she always had a human heart. But I...mortals, precious mortals, not I.

I am not of chinealkyn, humankind. I am not one of you. And as my mother has shown, our two worlds do not mix. She could not exist with us, so she became us. I do not want to force the same things on either of us.

It saddens me, it pains me, beyond imagining. We shall watch out for you, cairde na sióga.

Do mian go bhfuil ár mian is é ár ríocht do sheirbhíseach, is é ár uacht do chuid féin, is iad ár gcumhachtaí mise.

Slán agus rathúil, goodbye and prosper.

**So it's done. IiB has finally come to an end. Not all that welcome, though. Jareth the Elder is dead, but Sarah has gained his powers, lost her soul and succeeded him. Jareth the younger will nurse her back to the world of the living.****I was not writing Sarah's journal, but the diary of how Jareth the Elder fell and Sarah rose to triumph over him and succeed him.****  
****It's over, now. Sarah has won. Jareth the Elder is dead. She has succeeded over him. Over time, as Jareth the Elder said, she will regain her soul.****  
****There's nothing more to write, yet I find myself reluctant to relinquish it. IiB has become familiar to me, and saying goodbye will be like peering into the coffin of one of my sturdiest, strongest friends- even if my reviewers having been getting scarce and few in between. **

**There is some possibility of a sequel, Jareth's journals, but I doubt that much. I've only had two reviewers, faithful Hyboarian Queen, and mysticrox, for reviewing each and every chapter. **

**Slán!**

_Unique .F_


End file.
